All This Time, It's Always Been
by CobaltBlue94
Summary: Rachel finds out about Santana and Quinn's hook-up the night of the wedding. Quinn finds out about Rachel's pregnancy scare. Santana and Kurt just want to smack some sense into both of them. A few new things come into light for everyone involved. K now, maybe M later. Faberry endgame. Friendships: major HummelPezBerry, Quinntana, Kurtana, major Pezberry.
1. That Which We Come To Know

Summary: Rachel finds out about Santana and Quinn's hook-up the night of the wedding. Quinn finds out about Rachel's pregnancy scare. A few new things come into light for everyone involved.

* * *

Part One: That Which We Come To Know

It was on a Wednesday night, as Rachel was resting against one arm of the living room couch with her legs spread out across the rest of the space watching re-runs of _Who's The Boss?_, that the truth came out.

Kurt was out with Adam for the evening, and Rachel was running over lines of a stage adaptation of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun, which she had every intention of showing to Santana the second the girl walked through the door. She'd been feeling like a complete bitch ever since she and Kurt tossed Santana out of the apartment over the whole Brody debacle; after all, Santana had been so supportive and caring, genuinely only trying to look out for her and be a good friend to Rachel, and Rachel had kicked her to the curb. Quite literally, in fact.

Santana, for her part, had shown remarkable forgiveness and maturity when Rachel and Kurt had apologized profusely and all but begged her to move back in and come home. Santana kept insisting that she and Rachel were cool, but there was still that little knot of guilt that tightened in the diva's stomach every so often.

Rachel, lost in her thoughts, completely missed the sound of the door sliding open and someone coming in (which, you know, they live in New York City, so that's probably not very safe) until someone tapped her foot. She looked up to see Santana standing at the foot of the sofa, looking at her quizzically. She smiled a weak smile, a silent plea for Santana not to ask because she didn't particularly want to dredge it up right now, and pulled her legs closer to her so Santana could sit down.

"Hey, how was work?" she asked, trying her best not to sound as exhausted as she actually was.

Santana smirked knowingly. "You know. I sang, I danced, I waited tables, I managed to restrained myself from pouring a drink over this one asshole's head," the Latina said, taking a seat and pulling Rachel's legs straight across her lap again. "Spears is playing at Madison in May, by the way. Maybe we could think about going?"

Rachel smiled at how comfortable it was to just relax with Santana Lopez like this. "Yeah, that'd be fun," she said.

As she was fiddling with her phone, probably answering a text message, Santana asked, "You want me to make dinner? You look like you've been bench pressing U-Hauls all day, and Kurt said this morning that he wouldn't be home until later." She set the phone on the edge of the coffee table, and put her feet up next to it.

It was a little disconcerting, though not at all in an unpleasant way, that this had become domesticity for Rachel. Kurt Hummel and, more unbelievably, Santana Lopez, were her roommates in a decently comfortable loft apartment in Bushwick, Brooklyn, New York City, NY; and what was more than that, they were– as Santana had stated– a family here. The three of them were all single children in their families (barring Finn in Kurt's case) and they were all dramatic, secretly over-sensitive, and somewhat ill-tempered people at times; but, after growing up feeling lonely as an only child, Kurt and Santana felt oddly like the siblings Rachel had made-believe she had as a child.

She looked at Santana earnestly and said, "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet, Berry, I'm still getting used to this whole vegan-cooking deal," Santana returned.

As she began to pick up Rachel's feet and move herself out from under them, Rachel caught Santana's wrist. "No. I mean, thank you," she repeated more meaningfully. "I know you're allergic to heart-to-hearts, but thank you for being here for me the last couple of weeks, Santana. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been here and I'm still so sorry for not believing you about Brody when you were clearly onto something and for throwing you out when you were only trying to look out for me. And now, here you are, having forgiven me for everything with little grudgingness, and taking care of me again." Rachel shrugged, trying to play it down as she added, "You've become one of my best friends, and I love you, Santana. That's all."

Santana sat back down and put Rachel's legs back over her, rubbing the smaller brunette's calves subconsciously. "Look, Rach, I've done some pretty bitchy things to you in the past and you've always looked beyond it and forgiven me without any hard feelings. And besides – and if you repeat this to anyone outside this immediate family, I will deny it to my grave – you are one of my best friends too," Santana returned. "So yeah, I love you too. And all that crap."

This time when she lifted Rachel's legs to leave, she looked questioningly back at the smiling diva. "It okay if I go make dinner now?" Her voice was half-uncomfortable, half-amused and not at all affronting.

"Absolutely," Rachel agreed, pulling her legs back a little so Santana could stand. "Do you need any help?"

"Nah, I got this," Santana replied, pretending to brush dirt off her shoulders. She turned to make for the kitchen, but before she got very far she turned back. "But, uh, if you smell smoke . . . "

"Grab the fire extinguisher and head for the kitchen– got it."

"Thanks."

Rachel hummed out a small response and picked up the TV remote to turn it to something other than Tony Danza and Judith Light, but as she did, Santana's phone began to buzz and Rachel accidentally knocked it off its precarious perch on the edge of the coffee table. Rachel dove to pick it up, but dropped it again as it slipped through her fingers. She took a deep breath and grabbed it again, this time managing to actually lift it, but she felt it hum slightly, signifying that a button had been pressed.

She turned the phone over and nearly dropped it shock when her eyes unintentionally skimmed the words. Rachel held the phone tightly and read the words more carefully in shock.

**Quinn: It was a '2-time thing' rmbr? B never needs 2 kno that we slept 2gether the wedding. What happened w/ us, didnt mean what it means btwn U & Brit. U 2 R MFEO.**

Rachel wasn't sure why, but it felt like someone had punched her in the stomach upon reading those words. Quinn and Santana? Santana and Quinn? How could they have had sex? Logistically speaking, Rachel knew how, but _why_ would they? Santana was still in love with Brittany and, yes, Brittany was technically with Sam, but Santana had always fought for Brittany. Never before had Santana fallen into bed with Quinn because of it. And Quinn was as straight as they came. What the hell was going on?

She realized with a start that the words on the screen were shaking and blurring, and at first Rachel feared she'd damaged Santana's phone. Then she realized that the only thing damaged was herself; her hands were shaking like she was having a seizure and tears had somehow begun to pool in her brown eyes without her knowledge.

"Hey, Rachel, dinner's ready. I made–" Santana stopped abruptly when Rachel looked up to meet her gaze with a broken expression. "Hey," she said in a suddenly soft tone, moving quickly to sit down next to Rachel's weeping form. "What's wrong? What happened?" Santana tried to pull Rachel into her, as she had the night Rachel had confided in her about the girl's pregnancy scare, but Rachel jerked out of her grasp and stumbled to her tiny feet.

"You lied to me," Rachel snapped in a dangerously low voice.

"Huh?"

Rachel's molten mocha eyes rose to meet Santana's dark gaze, and Santana could see the mix of anger, anguish, and betrayal in them. "You lied to me!" Rachel yelled, suddenly letting the anger win out over her other emotions. She took Santana's phone and threw it at her, unconcerned whether the impact would hurt either Santana or her phone. "You lied to me, you told me nothing happened the night of Mr. Schue's wedding, that you chilled for a bit and then you went back to your hotel room to sleep."

"I did!" Santana cried in answer, oblivious to why Rachel had gone from loving to livid in no time flat.

"Sure, you just forgot to mention the part where you went back to your hotel room to _sleep with Quinn_!" Rachel yelled angrily.

Santana's eyes widened and she fumbled to look at her phone, which she had managed to catch between her forearms and her chest moments ago. When she saw the message on the screen, her eyes got even wider. "Rachel . . ." she began, not knowing how to answer to the brunette's obvious fury.

"I thought you cared about me more than this! I thought you were my friend!"

"Rachel, it–"

"You know what? I don't even want to know. Just . . . screw you, Santana!" the tiny brunette screamed angrily, before storming into her room and slamming the door shut so hard that a picture frame fell off the wall and shattered across the floor just as Kurt burst in with Adam in tow.

"What the hell just happened?" Kurt exclaimed in alarm. Both his and Adam's mouths were open in shock.

Santana stood frozen in place, staring numbly at Rachel's closed door. "I have no._ fucking_. clue."

* * *

After Kurt had slid the door closed after Adam, he turned back to Santana with still-wide eyes and stage-whispered conspiratorially, "WHAT is going on here?"

Santana, who sat at the kitchen table with her head in her hands, looked up to the boy and winced. "I honestly don't know, Kurt. One minute Rachel and I are laughing and having a good ol' fashioned, girly heart-to-heart as _amigas,_ I go into the kitchen to make dinner, I come back in to tell Rachel it's done, and she's sitting there crying," Santana summarized in a low voice. "I try to ask her what's wrong and she freaks out, says that I've been lying to her. She throws my phone at me and I looked at it and there's a text from Quinn. I try to explain and she blows up."

"She read a message that Quinn sent to you?" Kurt asked in surprise. "That doesn't sound like Rachel. I mean, she has a tendency to snoop sometimes, but not like this."

"I get the feeling that she didn't mean to read it at all," Santana said quietly. "All you have to do to unlock my phone is brush your finger over the screen, then the button to open a message is kind of right there._ I've _accidentally opened a text message before on my phone."

Kurt paused thoughtfully, as if deliberating on something and finally relenting. "What did the message from Quinn say, if you don't mind my asking?"

Santana took her phone off the table beside her and opened it up to the troublesome message that had started all this. She handed the phone to Kurt and watched his face carefully for a reaction. A knowing look took over his features, but otherwise he didn't react at all and simply handed the phone back.

"You don't look shocked," she noted.

"I had my suspicions after Quinn's hands slipped just a little too low when you were slow dancing together, and then the two of you disappeared around the same time that evening. Besides, Santana, you are not the only one with eyes and a rather well-tuned gaydar," he replied, keeping his voice still quiet.

"Q's not gay, Kurt."

Kurt took a sip of the coffee he had prepared for himself. "No, she's not. But she was certainly acting like it that night," he parried. "Besides, being her best friend, you must have noticed that Quinn's sexuality is not entirely unquestionable either."

"Barring recent sexual encounters, we also both know that that question generally seems to crop up only in certain instances," Santana added.

"You don't think . . . ?" Kurt said.

"I don't know, but I think if I want to go to bed tonight without being paranoid that Rachel will stab me in my sleep, then I'd better find out fast," Santana answered.

* * *

_ "Q, it's S, and before you delete this message, you should know that I'm not looking for a repeat performance of V-Day or anything. Actually, it's– I'm calling about Rachel. Look, something's up and I need your help. She needs you. And I know that you and I haven't spoken since that night, but you're my girl, Q– my best friend– and we're both Rachel's girls. Look, we can talk about what happened or we can pretend that it never did, it's totally up to you. Just . . . come to New York, or at the very least, just call me back. Please, and you know how I hate saying that word. Well, okay then . . . yeah . . . so . . . love ya, bitch. Call me back. Bye."_

* * *

"Are you seriously freezing me out over this?" Santana demanded, her hands braced on the back of a kitchen chair as she leaned forward. When Rachel didn't respond Santana continued with more frustration, "I don't even get what the big deal is, Berry! So seriously, just explain it to me."

Rachel continued to ignore her. Santana groaned in frustration just as there was a knock on the door. The Latina looked pointedly at her pint-sized friend. "Fine. You don't wanna talk to me? Maybe you'll listen to her," Santana ranted as she slid the loft door open to reveal Quinn Fabray.

Brown doe-eyes widened to their fullest extent as Rachel shot out of her seat at the kitchen table. She looked from the unknowing expression on Quinn's beautiful face, then to Santana will barely concealed rage. "You invited Quinn?" the diva asked in a voice that was dangerously low and even. "I can't freaking believe you, Santana! What? Is she here to partake in laughing with you at my expense? You know, I really thought you had changed since high school, but the two of you are the same lying, manipulating, vindictive, coldhearted girls hiding behind pretty faces." The anger drained off her face, leaving behind only disappointment and betrayal. "I'm done with you," she said calmly. Then she looked at Quinn and added, "Both of you."

The two watched as Rachel Berry proceeded, not to storm out, but to simply walk coolly to the door and slip past Quinn into the hallway and disappear.

For her own part, Santana had been expecting a much bigger and more dramatic eruption than what Rachel had exhibited, and was left dazed and startled by the anti-climatic occurrence. She stood there for a moment and so did Quinn.

Quinn sighed finally and shook her head as she looked at Santana. "What did you do?" she asked in exasperation, as if she had asked the Latina this a million times over the years.

"This time?" Santana began, dropping into Rachel's vacated seat and rubbing her face stressfully. "I tried to get her to talk to me about why she's been so _loco_ since she found out about us sleeping together."

As Quinn was taking a seat across from Santana, her eyes widened and her head snapped to look at her best friend. "You told her?! Santana! Why would you do that?!"

"I didn't tell her, Legally Blonde! Near as I can figure, she accidentally opened the last text you sent me before I called you," Santana explained, grabbing her phone and opening the message to show it to Quinn.

The blonde's face turned horror-stricken. "Oh my God," she uttered, allowing herself to fall against the back of the kitchen chair. "_Oh my God,_" she repeated numbly. "Who else knows?"

Just as Santana opened her mouth to answer, the apartment door slid open and both girls looked anxiously to the door, only to see Kurt walk in with a disturbed expression on his face. He looked from Santana to Quinn, unsurprised. "I ran into Rachel in the lobby. Are you trying to_ provoke_ Rachel into murdering you in your sleep?" He looked to the blonde, "Hi, Quinn. I assume Santana called you here to talk about how the news of your Valentine's Day rendezvous has been affecting Rachel?"

Quinn literally face-palmed. "So now what?"

While Santana shrugged, she eyed her long-time on-and-off best friend, and it was like a light bulb went off in Quinn's head. She stood up suddenly. "I have to go find Rachel," she said, starting for the door. She only stopped when Santana caught her wrist.

"Wait, there's more that you should know," Santana told her, "and you're gonna want to sit down for this." Santana looked to Kurt, a silent plea for him to help her explain everything, and the boy nodded and sat down at the table as well.

Santana and Kurt went through everything that had been happening recently. Santana told Quinn about Rachel's pregnancy scare (_"And you didn't call me?" Quinn had demanded_). Kurt told her about Santana's suspicion that Brody was a drug-dealer (_"And again you didn't call me? We could have taken him down together, Santana!"_), and finally finding out that he was a male prostitute and calling Finn to beat him up _("You called Finn Hudson but you didn't call me? I would have kicked his ass too, you know!"_). By the end of it all, Quinn looked like someone had punched her in the stomach. She rested her elbows on the tabletop and put her head in her hands.

"Are you gonna be okay, chica?" Santana asked worriedly after a long weighted silence. When Quinn didn't respond, she went on to ask, "Are you really mad at me?"

With her head still resting in her hands, Quinn answered, "No. No, I'm not mad at you, Santana." She let out a shaky sigh and finally looked up to her best friend with red eyes. "I'm mad at myself. I've been so caught up in my own life and Yale, so confused about what happened between us . . . that I've been losing my closest friends and I didn't even realize it until now."

"Welcome back, bitch," Santana said, grinning with relief.

"We've missed_ this_ Quinn," Kurt added, putting his hand over Quinn's on the table.

Quinn cleared the lump of emotion from within her throat. "Um, do either of you know where Rachel might have gone? I do want to find her and talk to her."

Kurt smiled and reached into his pocket to find his student ID card and hand it to Quinn. "She's probably in the dance studio at NYADA. Just take my ID card and you can get yourself into the building. Spacey Hall. It'll be room 347, on the third floor," he instructed. "Do you want one of us to go with you?"

"No," Quinn said with certainty. "One-on-one has always been Rachel's and my style. I'll be okay."

Kurt nodded and stood, bending down to kiss Quinn on the top of her head and whisper, "I'm proud of you, Quinn Fabray", before walking into the other room. For the first time, Quinn and Santana were left entirely to their own devices.

"Quinn," Santana said to get her attention. The blonde's face lifted to look at her, and Santana continued, "Look, I don't wants to add insult to injury here, but there's something I gots to say to you." She paused. "I don't regret sleeping with you. Actually, I'm glad it was me that you decided to test-drive lady-loving with, instead of hooking up with some random at a frat party one drunken night. So I don't want to forget about it, but like I said in my voicemail message, you're my best friend and I want it to stay that way, if that's cool with you."

Quinn smirked that little half-smile that she wore when she was genuinely at ease. "I think I'll survive," she replied cheekily.

Santana laughed and stretched her arms wide. "Hug it out?"

"Sure, why not?"

As she held Santana closely, Quinn couldn't help but point out, "Living with Rachel and Kurt is turning you soft, Lady Badass."

Santana pulled back with an earnest look on her face. "I'm starting to think that that isn't such a bad thing, Q. But I can still be badass when I need to be."

Quinn laughed and quickly gave Santana another hug before grabbing Kurt's card off the table. "I'm going to go find Rachel. I'll be back soon," she said.

Just before Quinn went out the door, Santana called after her, "Go get her, girl!"

* * *

True to Kurt's word, Rachel _was_ in the studio, putting all of her anger and heartache into trying to perfect the moves Cassandra July had been instructing the class in most recently. By the fifth time she'd fallen to the hardwood floors of the dance hall, Rachel was so frustrated that she could have broken every mirror in the entire room. Considering two out of the four walls were constructed of floor-to-ceiling reflective glass, that was a lot of mirrors to smash.

As she struggled to push herself back to her feet, Rachel caught sight of herself in the mirror. "Come on, Berry, just catch your breath, get up, and try again," she told herself. With one last heave, she got to her feet, marching toward the mirror as she opened her mouth to sing:

_"I don't wanna be left behind  
Distance was a friend of mine  
Catching breath in a web of lies  
I've spent most of my life  
Riding waves, playing acrobat  
Shadowboxing the other half  
Learning how to react  
I've spent most of my time_

_Catching my breath, letting it go,_  
_Turning my cheek for the sake of the show_  
_Now that you know, this is my life,_  
_I won't be told what's supposed to be right_  
_Catch my breath, no one can hold me back,_  
_I ain't got time for that_  
_Catch my breath"_

Rachel listened to the melody in her head, her heart pumping wildly in time to it. She could hear the shift, the change of songs, and feel them merge together.

_"Funny how the heart can be deceiving  
More than just a couple times  
Why do we fall for it so easy?  
Even when it's not right  
_

_Where there is desire  
There is gonna be a flame"_

_**"Where there is a flame  
**__**Someone's bound to get burned"**_

Rachel's voice cut off when she heard another's voice, and she turned to see Quinn walking cautiously toward her as she sang:_  
_

**"But just because it burns  
Doesn't mean you're gonna die  
You've gotta get up and try, try, try  
Gotta get up and try, try, try  
You always get up and try, try, try**"

Quinn circled with Rachel, both of them moving in time with the other's footsteps. It was a dance they felt like they'd been doing for the entirety of their acquaintanceship. They had always been circling each other, be it subconsciously or consciously, and now it was coming to a head. This was where four years of buildup led to– two girls and a mash-up. Rachel locked eyes with Quinn as she continued:

_"Ever worry that it might be ruined  
And does it make you wanna cry?  
When you're out there doing what you're doing  
Are you just getting by, by, by?"_

The diva took hurried, forceful steps toward the blonde, like she was going to walk right over her, as the lyrics kept bursting out of her._  
_

_"Tell me are you just getting by, by, by_

_Catching my breath, letting it go,  
Turning my cheek for the sake of the show  
Now that you know, this is my life,"_

Quinn held her hand out to Rachel, but the girl simply strutted right by the blonde. Rachel spun around quickly to face Quinn, whose eyes had been following Rachel's movements._  
_

_"I won't be told what's supposed to be right!  
_

_Catch my breath, no one can hold me back,  
I ain't got time for that  
Catch my breath, won't let them get me down,  
It's all so simple now"_

By that point, Quinn was more than ready to jump back into the musical fray that Rachel seemed intent on having out. Well, if Rachel Berry wanted a vocal knock down drag out, then Quinn would always give Rachel exactly what she needed.

Rachel began singing along with Quinn, their melody and harmony blending the songs together the way a true mash-up was supposed to sound.

_**"**_**You helped me see . . ." **_("Catching my breath, letting it go. . .")_**  
"The beauty. . ." **_ ("Turning my cheek for the sake of the show. . .")_

**". . . in ev-ery-thi-ing!**_**"**__ ("Now that you know, this is my life...")  
"I won't be told __**what's supposed to be right**__!  
__**Catching my breath, letting it go,**__"  
"Turning my cheek for the sake of the show" _**("Where there is desire, there is gonna be a flame")  
**_"Now that you know, this is my life," _**("Where there is a flame, someone's bound to get burned")  
**_"I won't be told what's supposed to be right" _**("You gotta get up and try, try, try")**

_**"Catch my breath"**_

The song came to a finish and Quinn was expecting Rachel to finally explode, like she had obviously been holding herself back from doing back at the loft. She was pleasantly surprised to see the faintest of tired smiles touch Rachel's lips, like the song _had_ been her explosion. Then again, this was Rachel so maybe it was.

"We haven't sang a duet together since junior year," Quinn commented with a smile. "I think therapeutic mash-ups are kind of becoming our thing."

"You had sex with Santana," Rachel stated, as if commenting on the weather. It was completely unexpected and it took even Quinn's sharp mind a moment to catch up.

"Yes," the blonde admitted finally. "I had sex with Santana." She paused, contemplating her next move like the strategist that she was. "You thought you might be pregnant and your boyfriend turned out to be a male escort," she returned as politely as possible given what she was saying. "Looks like we've both been hiding skeletons in our closets. What I don't understand is why you told Santana you thought you could be pregnant, but you never said a word to me?"

Rachel was looking down at her fidgeting fingers. She mumbled something that Quinn couldn't hear.

"Say that a little louder, Rach? I couldn't hear you."

"I said, I didn't want you to find out!" Rachel exclaimed, her voice a little too loud now. Rachel got to her feet and began pacing, and Quinn let her because she knew that this was– aside from singing– how Rachel worked things out. "I never told Santana either. She found the test at the bottom of the bathroom trash when she was rifling through the apartment trying to find dirt on Brody. It was bad enough seeing the look on her face when I broke down crying after she confronted me about it, _basically_ confirming her assumptions, because little 'man-hands-treasure-trail- RuPaul' Rachel Berry might have gotten herself knocked up!" Quinn winced at Rachel's harsh tone before the little diva finally simmered down. "I couldn't handle your disappointment of me on top of hers and Kurt's. I didn't want anyone to know."

"Rachel," Quinn said in a soft voice, catching the brunette's hand in both of hers. Rachel looked down at her tearfully. "When I was pregnant, even when you found out about Beth's real paternity, did you ever judge me?"

"I didn't really have any right to, especially after outing you and Puck to Finn," Rachel replied quietly.

"I could never be disappointed in you, Rachel Berry. Even now . . . I'm only disappointed that you didn't feel like you could call _me _and tell _me_ about it," Quinn said, still holding onto Rachel's small hand. "And it wouldn't have been your fault if you _had_ been pregnant. I would have been there for you no matter what. I'm _still_ here for you no matter what."

"Why?" Rachel asked plainly.

Quinn's brow furrowed in confusion, suddenly feeling like she had missed a step. "Why what?"

Rachel sighed with defeat, her shoulders slumping as she went to sit down on a bench against the wall nearby the piano. She looked up at Quinn with brown eyes that shone with hurt. "Why did you sleep with Santana? Why Santana?"

Letting out a sigh of her own, Quinn walked over to sit on the piano bench, facing Rachel. "Because I was curious and tipsy and honestly feeling pretty conflicted, and because she's Santana, my lesbian best friend who I felt safe enough to . . . _experiment_ with," Quinn explained. She let out a humorless chuckle, "Wow, hearing it out loud, it sounds like such an excuse." She turned her head to Rachel. "But it's the truth."

From the moment the words left Quinn's mouth, she knew she'd said something wrong, because Rachel's posture was suddenly even more ramrod straight than usual and immediately whatever warmth and affection they'd been sharing moments ago was now gone. Quinn didn't get it. She herself had been incredibly hurt by finding out that Rachel had been keeping secrets from her, and maybe at one point in her life she might have treated Rachel to the same iciness that the girl was now exhibiting with her, but she had kept a cool head. Why was Rachel being this way? Why did it matter so much to Rachel, when the fact of the matter was that it really hadn't mattered nearly as much to Quinn or Santana?

"I'm glad we've clear all that up, Quinn," Rachel said in an entirely too professional voice. She stood up and walked to the other side of the piano from Quinn. "But if you don't mind, I have more practice to do and–"

"Don't," Quinn snapped, her fuse finally running out. She turned onto her feet and whirled to face Rachel, snarling, "Don't do that! Don't shut me out, Rachel! I can tell when something's bothering you." Her voice turned soft as she pled, "Just talk to me. Be honest with me. Why does my one-night stand with Santana bother you so much? There's no reason for it to!"

That eerily tense and still silence that had first appeared back in the loft returned again, this time with a vengeance. Rachel stared at Quinn until she couldn't hold the blonde's gaze anymore and then she looked away.

The part of her mind that hadn't had all logic derailed by the news of Quinn's '_experimentation_', knew that she was being absolutely ridiculous. The feelings of jealousy that were plaguing her were entirely unfounded; Quinn hadn't done anything wrong. Yet Rachel still felt like the blonde had taken her heart and ripped it down the middle and then stomped all over it. She hadn't even told Rachel about it herself; Quinn had left her to find out from an indirect text message.

She felt a jolt of annoyance at the angry tears that sprung to her eyes as she turned to ask Quinn, "Have I ever meant anything to you at all? Or do I mean nothing? A loser that you're only friends with out of some twisted sense of obligation."

Quinn took a step back like Rachel had physically slapped her. She knew all too well what that felt like, and this seemed to hurt even worse than the sting she had felt at Santana's hand. Now she was crying too.

"How can you even ask me that?" she demanded. "Rachel, you're . . . You . . . mean . . . UGH!" Quinn returned to her seat at the piano bench and met Rachel's eyes over the instrument with a glaring intensity, "Just . . . _listen_, okay?"

Her fingers picked up and familiar tune on the ivory keys and pretty soon there was a song filling the room for the second time that evening. When Quinn's voice layered the air around Rachel with a familiar song, Rachel felt her breath catch in her throat.

_"You're a falling star, you're the get away car.  
You're the line in the sand when I go too far.  
You're the swimming pool, on an August day.  
And you're the perfect thing to say."_

Quinn contemplated the dangers of singing the next verse and editing the next part out, but found that it fit Rachel too well to be skimmed over. As it were, she mad-libbed it._  
_

_"And you talk a lot, but I think it's cute.  
And when you sing with me you know exactly what you do.  
Baby don't pretend that you don't know it's true.  
'Cause you can see it when I look at you."_

When her improv elicited a small and begrudging smile from Rachel, Quinn beamed and continued to play and sing with renewed vigor.

_"And in this crazy life, and through these crazy times  
It's you, it's you, you make me sing.  
You're every line, you're every word, you're everything."_

Rachel watched Quinn watch her as she played with her whole heart. Those feelings that had been broiling inside of Rachel for the past couple of days hit a new note, and suddenly things were becoming clearer to Rachel.

Quinn could _never_ know._  
_

_"And I can't believe, oh that I'm your friend,  
And you care about me, baby, just because you can.  
Whatever comes our way, ah we'll see it through,  
'Cause you know that's what we always do._

_And in this crazy life, and through these crazy times_  
_It's you, it's you, you make me sing._  
_You're every line, you're every word, you're everything._  
_You're every song, and I sing along._  
_'Cause you're my everything._  
_It's you, it's you, you make me sing._  
_You're every line, you're every word, you're everything."_

Quinn looked up with imploring eyes. "I don't know a better way to explain it." She finally saw the slightly stunned, far-off look in Rachel's baby browns and tipped her head to the side in confusion. "Are you okay?"

Rachel shook her head out of it. "Yeah. Yeah! I'm– That was . . . " Rachel laughed nervously. "I got it."

She could feel her face and neck heating up. Her breathing was irregular and shallow, like she couldn't catch her breath. Rachel found herself getting lost in the hazel eyes that were watching hers carefully. _Oh my Barbra! This CANNOT be happening!_ How had she never realized it before? Could she really have been so dense that she had never noticed?

_Holy crap, I am so f–_


	2. Tell Her, Don't Tell Her

_Sorry for the filler chapter =(_

* * *

_Part Two: __Tell Her, Don't Tell Her_

* * *

It was nearly eleven at night when a knock came at Rachel's door and Santana finally peeked her head inside the door. "Is it okay if I come in?" she asked in a voice so small it was unbefitting of Santana Lopez.

Rachel nodded, abandoning her Music History 1 homework for the time being. Santana came and sat on the very edge of Rachel's bed next to her and Rachel rolled her eyes. She grabbed Santana's forearm and pulled the Latina closer toward her. Santana got the hint and wasted no time in moving to sit next to Rachel.

"I'm sorry I've been so angry at you, Santana. It was uncalled for and misplaced," Rachel told her.

"It's okay, Rachel," Santana answered without hesitation. "I think I'm starting to understand."

The diva's brow furrowed. "Understand? Understand what?"

Santana looked at her very seriously. "Do you love Quinn?"

The question came seemingly out of nowhere and it caught Rachel off guard for a moment. Regaining some of her lost composure, Rachel replied simply, "Of course. I care greatly about Quinn. She's my friend."

Impatience and patience war within Santana's facial features. "Rachel, that wasn't what I asked you. You know what I'm asking you, and I _know_ that you know what I'm asking you, so let's be honest."

Rachel hesitated and held her tongue because she wasn't exactly certain how to answer that question. Yes, there was something _there_ between her and Quinn; it's also true that she couldn't deny she had always been rather taken with the gorgeous blonde. Quinn was the most beautiful girl Rachel had even seen, but she's always known there was a lot more to Quinn than that. Quinn was clever, just as sharp-witted as she was sharp-tongued, strategic as a modern-day Athena, calculating, effortlessly poised, intimidating, and just a bit too spontaneous for her own good. But under the untouchable image that she projected, there was a part of Quinn that was also lonely, insecure, and vulnerable, always desperately and subconsciously reaching out for something or some_one_ to grab onto. A friend. Someone to love her.

Which was exactly why Rachel never gave up on trying to be Quinn's friend, no matter how many times Quinn turned her down, because that was another thing she admired but drove her crazy about Quinn: her determination. Somewhere along the time of bribing Jacob Ben Israel not to go public with Quinn's pregnancy on his blog, singing and dancing and performing in Glee Club, being slapped by the blonde at junior prom, and helping one another find their way throughout their senior year, Rachel was starting to realize that she _had_ fallen a little bit for Quinn, but she knew nothing could ever come of it, so she banished the notion to the very back of her heart and mind and locked it up there.

"You can never tell her or give her any hint about this, Santana," Rachel replied, consciously skirting around the question. "But it's possible that you're right in your assumptions, but that is _all_ you're getting out of me."

Santana nodded acceptingly. "I got your back, Rachel," she said. "And I'm glad you told me." She bumped her shoulder into Rachel's and Rachel returned the affectionate nudge before resting her head on Santana's shoulder blade.

"Is Quinn staying the night?" Rachel inquired impassively.

"I think so. Why?"

"I just wanted to know how many people were in the loft in case of emergency," Rachel replied.

Santana scoffed before breaking into soft laughter. "_That_ is the lamest excuse you have ever come up with, Rach," the Latina snickered. "Come on, admit it, you wanna know if you have an opportunity to get your Quinnie-cuddles on tonight."

"Santana!" Rachel shrieked indignantly. She grabbed a pillow from behind her and promptly whacked Santana over the head with it.

The Latina's dark eyes glittered wickedly as she grabbed a pillow of her own. "Oh, it's is _so_ on!" she declared just as Rachel dove off the bed to duck for cover.

As Santana hurled her pillow toward Rachel, the door opened just in time for the airborne pillow to smack an unsuspecting Kurt directly in the face. There was a long silence as both Rachel and Santana studied Kurt's stunned expression, and then they both burst into uncontrollable laughter.

"So this is what goes on while I'm in New Haven," Quinn's silky voice remarked playfully from over Kurt's shoulder.

Kurt turned to look at her. "You have no idea," he grumbled. "It's like living with Thelma and Louise."

"Emma and Liv," Rachel seconded.

"Rachel and Monica," Santana added. She turned to the brunette who was still on the floor, "Which is kind of ironic considering you would be Monica and _I_ would be Rachel."

"Oh, you'd definitely be Rachel," Quinn agreed drolly.

Santana chose to ignore that comment and turned her attention to Kurt. "Something you needed, Lady Hummel?"

He rolled his eyes but simply answered, "I wasn't sure whom was killing whom."

Santana simply rolled her eyes.

* * *

Quinn was leaving early on Saturday morning, which Santana thought was completely pointless, given that the girl hadn't even been with them for twenty-four hours. They hadn't even gone out for dinner or drinks or hit up any clubs; it was New York and there was no reason why Rosario Cruz and Emily Stark shouldn't have fun on a Saturday night. Not _too_ much fun, like they had the night of the should-have-been wedding, but a little booze and busting moves.

"Are we really that unbearable?" Santana asked, watching Quinn gather the few things she'd brought along with her. "Come on, Q! What good is having friends in The City if you never come and hang out with them?"

"Leave her alone, Santana," Rachel sing-songed for the umpteenth time that morning. "Although I do somewhat agree." She turned her gaze to Quinn, "You should really come visit us more, Quinn."

"Yeah, 'cause you know we're, like, the only _familia_ you have within a hundred miles of Yale," Santana agreed. "It's not good for you to be on your own so much. Kinda turns you into a raging sociopath."

"Santana!" Rachel scolded shrilly.

"What?!" the Latina snapped defensively. "We all know it's true. Loneliness plus Q equals cray-cray!Quinn. It's not an insult. . . okay maybe it's _kind of_ an insult. . . but it's also a fact."

Rachel, who had her head in her hand, finally groaned, "Santana! Stop. Talking."

"No she sort of has a point," Quinn admitted honestly. "When I isolate myself I do kind of regress to HBIC-Quinn."

Santana nodded firmly to Rachel and spun her finger in horizontal circle near her head. Then she turned back to Quinn, "So you'll be back next week to stay the _whole_ weekend, right?" The way she said it let it be known to Quinn that it wasn't really optional.

Quinn squirmed under Santana's hard gaze. "Um, well . . . don't you think it would be nice if you talked to you roommates before inviting me, Santana?"

"You're definitely coming next weekend, Quinn!" they heard Kurt yell from his bedroom.

Still feeling tense about the situation, Quinn turned her hazel eyes to Rachel, who had been studying her the whole conversation. In Quinn's eyes was a silent question, a request for affirmation that she would be welcome at the loft next weekend. The corners of Rachel's mouth quirked upwards as she grinned her approval.

"Okay then," Quinn sighed, feeling relieved that Rachel wanted her there. "I guess I'll be back here next Friday." She smiled at Rachel, and with a pink face, Rachel smiled back.

* * *

**Three Weeks Later**

"You should tell her."

"No, I shouldn't. It would ruin everything."

"Tell her."

"No."

"Tell her."

"Santana!"

"Tell her you love her!"

"Shut up, Santana. I'm not–"

"_How does she knoooow,_

_ You love her?_

_ How does she knoooow_

_ She's yours?_"

"SANTANA!" Rachel yelled finally.

"What?! You're the one who made me watch the damn movie, now shut up and let me finish my song," Santana shot back. Just she was just about to open her mouth to continue the song, Rachel leapt up from her side at one end of the couch and put her hand over Santana's mouth.

"Stop," Rachel told her in a firm voice, before leaning back. The smaller girl lifted her monologue manuscript back onto her lap and returned her gaze to it. "You promised you wouldn't say anything."

"Actually, I think I told you I had your back, and Quinn's been here every weekend since your lovesick breakdown," Santana argued. At Rachel's leveling glare, Santana held her hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay. Fine. But I'm telling you, the truth is going to come out and, with our luck, at the worst possible time and when we're least expecting it. If you tell her now yourself, at least you have control over how she finds out."

"Well, hopefully by the time the truth 'comes out'– preferably in at least another ten or twenty years– I'll be over it, and my friendship with Quinn will be strong enough that it won't matter," Rachel said with finality. She went back to memorizing the monologue pulled from the script of Spring Awakening that she had to deliver for class next week, but she could feel Santana's fiery eyes on her. Rachel looked up to the Latina who was, sure enough, staring expectantly at her. "What?!" she demanded.

"So, and I'm just pondering aloud here, what happens when Quinn starts dating someone who isn't you?" Santana asked. "Because let me you tell you, Rachel, being friends with the girl you're in love with when she's making googly eyes at some dumb guy who doesn't even have a clue what he has when he has her, is not a particularly joyous experience."

When Rachel bit her lip thoughtfully but didn't say anything, Santana leaned forward and took the tiny brunette's hand. "Trust me, Rach. Don't wait to tell her, it'll just hurt you both."

Their conversation stopped at the sound of the door being slid open. "Honey, I'm home!" they heard Quinn's voice echo playfully throughout the loft.

Santana leaned into Rachel. "Now, doesn't that sound like something–"

"Shut it, Santana," Rachel snapped.

"Hello?"

"In here!" they yelled in unison.

Rachel whipped her head back around to Santana. "I mean it, Santana. Not a word, not a remark, not a hint, nothing," she hissed quickly, before Quinn came within earshot.

Quinn glided into the room, more than she ever walked. The light from the setting sun that was coming through the windows against the far wall hit Quinn's blonde hair when she came to stand in front of the two squabbling girls and illuminated Quinn's head like a halo. Rachel's breath caught in her throat, as was the norm when Quinn came around lately, and it was all the brunette could do not to choke on her own saliva. Many times over the years had Rachel thought about how unfair it was that Quinn was so beautiful, but now it was for a completely different reason.

"Hi," Quinn's harmonic voice greeted them. She eyed the two awkwardly acting friends. "What did I miss?"

Rachel subtly drove her elbow into Santana's ribcage as the other girl opened her mouth to answer. "Dinner," she lied, her voice just a few octaves higher than was normal for such a mundane answer. "Any suggestions?"

The blonde looked at her quizzically. "I thought we were going out tonight," Quinn replied, her gaze shifting to Santana momentarily.

"We are," Santana firmly stated.

Rachel tried to keep her heart from falling, because of course Santana and Quinn were going out tonight– they were both young and beautiful, spirited young women and Santana had dragged them both out of the loft at least once per weekend the last two weekends that Quinn had come to visit them. She hadn't yet gotten Quinn to agree to a night of bar-hopping, but it seemed that the feisty Latina had finally won even that out.

As she tried to squelch the jealousy that was again flaring up in the pit of her stomach, Rachel remembered that while Santana and Quinn were beautiful and intriguing and attracted partners like moths to flame, she was not and did not. Besides, despite her own inexperience, she knew how these things worked; only one was needed to be a wingman (or, in this case, wing-woman). Quinn and Santana had always been friends, and Rachel had once been their public enemy number-one; she had about as much interest in being a third-wheel nuisance now as she did when she was sixteen.

She was an actress, she reminded herself, and in a difficult social situations actresses tended to do what they did best– smile at the camera and improvise. So Rachel plastered on the most genuine smile she could muster while feeling like her heart was shattered on the floor.

"Okay," Rachel said, her happy tone sounding too enthusiastic even to her own ears. "In that case I'll just grab something on my way back to NYADA." She got up from the sofa and looked at both of them with that same smiling facade that was now hurting her face.

"You're not coming with us?" Quinn asked.

"Why do you have to go back to NYADA tonight? It's Friday," Santana questioned over Quinn. Her tone was blank, as if Rachel's announcement had taken her totally by surprise.

Rachel really hadn't gotten as far with her lie as to have an excuse for why she was going back to NYADA, so she improvised again. "Composition. Late night thing. I'll see you guys in the morning!" she said, throwing the last part over her shoulder as she began walking out.


	3. One Too Many Rounds With Jose Cuervo

_One Too Many Rounds With Jose Cuervo _

"Y' know, Q, 'f I didn' know 'ny betrer, I'd think you werent havin'a good time," Santana commented offhandedly. She watched as Quinn downed her fifth shot of Jose Cuervo that night and chase it with a swig from her vodka cranberry ("hold the cranberry") and pout into the empty shot glass.

"Why doesn' Rachel like me'nymore?" Quinn asked, either not hearing or not caring that Santana had asked her a question.

From her slurred speech and dazed, glassy eyes, Santana knew she was officially hammered. "We used 'o be friennds," Quinn continued. Her brow furrowed in consternation but the look disappeared and a faint gleam appeared in Quinn's hazel eyes as she leaned in conspiratorially and whispered loudly with a hand on one side of her mouth, "Sometimes. . . I think maybe it was _more_."

Quinn leaned back and picked up her glass of vodka, waving it around as she explained, "I'mean, she'so pretty, y' know? Like, not in the usual "Cover Girl" way like you'n'me, 'cause we're, like, a dimadozen 'specially 'round here. But Rachel is _gen– _genu– genuinin– _really_ beautiful. She just . . . _shines_, like from the inside out, like she's made of gold or something. She has those eyes and– and that mouth! It makes such beau'iful music! And 'er smile. . ." Santana could've sworn that Quinn swooned a little, before she barreled on in her Rachel-monologue. "Then there's her heart, she's s' sweet and she's always soo caring, even to piple who don' deserve it. _And_ she's honest–"

This comment was cut off by Santana's loud bark of laughter. The irony of the situation was just too rich. Here was Quinn, mooning after Rachel Berry, calling her _honest_ when Rachel was _lying_ to Quinn and mooning after the blonde. _God_, it was like some warped, lesbian Romeo and Juliet. Plus, both she and Quinn were drunk, which made everything even funnier.

She noticed Quinn's glare a moment too late, as the blonde snapped, "_What?!_ You don' think sh' is?"

"Q, 'f only y' knew," Santana remarked. Quinn stood up suddenly, drawing Santana's attention from her martini. "Q! Where 're you goin'?" Santana asked, standing up herself and suddenly getting a head-rush and having to sit back down.

"We should go back to the ap'r'ment on Rachel to check," Quinn declared. "S'was upset earl'r. Should've brought her with us." The blonde's forehead crinkled as her own words set in to her alcohol-blitzed mind. "I mean. . ."– she tried unsuccessfully to focus her gaze on Santana –"You know what I meant. I thin' I'm getting start to buzzzzzz. . . ." Quinn trailed off on the word. Then her mind seemed to snap back to her, "Let's go find Rachel!"

"Quinn, I'm so ev'n I can't drunk walk," Santana argued groggily.

"Fine," Quinn sighed. " 'll go'back m'self." With that, Quinn grabbed her purse and stumbled out of the bar.

She knew she shouldn't have lied to Quinn and Santana. She should have talked to them about what was going on, but how could she when mentioning it to Quinn would mean admitting her feelings and mentioning it to Santana would only lead to another "tell her" argument? It was killing her. She had always told Quinn everything, even when Quinn hadn't wanted to know, with the exception of her pregnancy scare and the Brody catastrophe, and now Quinn even knew that. But telling Quinn that Rachel wanted her? Wanted to kiss her and hold her hand and fall asleep in her arms and _show her_ how much she meant to Rachel in the most intimate way? It was inconceivable. It was _Quinn Fabray,_ and she was Rachel Berry.

Her brooding and crying was interrupted when someone stumbled through the steel sliding door and fell face-first onto the floor just inside the apartment. The giggles that came after the prompt _thunk!_ were distinctly Quinn's and Rachel rose to her feet to investigate. The first thing she saw when she walked out of her room was Quinn rolling onto her back on the kitchen floor, still laughing like a lunatic. The blonde tilted her head back and caught and upside-down vision of Rachel.

"Rach!" she cried happily, stumbling to her feet and staggering over to wrap her arms around Rachel. "I was looking for you!"

"Um, Quinn? You're really intoxicated," Rachel pointed out. She looked around, "Where's Santana?"

Quinn pulled away enough to let Rachel judge from her face that the thought hadn't really occurred to the blonde. "Huh. I don' knew. I los' her in 'e lob-ee."

Rachel put a hand to her forehead and sighed. "Okay," she said, she took Quinn by her forearms and pushed her back into a chair at the kitchen table. Rachel briefly took her eyes off of Quinn long enough to get her a glass of water, before turning back to set it in front of her. "You drink that, okay? And I'm going to go find Santana."

As she was about to walk away, Quinn grabbed her wrist. "No. Stay here with me," Quinn pleaded.

Rachel made the mistake of looking into the girl's hazel eyes, which had always had the unique ability to mesmerize Rachel. Years of practice allowed her to shake herself out of it and extricate her wrist from Quinn's grasp. Her skin immediately shivered in protest of losing Quinn's touch.

"I'll be right back," she promised. She pointed to the glass of water, "Drink that. I mean it."

True to Quinn's word, Santana was sitting with her head between her knees in the lobby, looking for all the world like she'd drank all the liquor in New York City. Rachel lightly put her hand on Santana's shoulder and when the girl looked up at her, Rachel was pretty sure that Santana's face was tinted slightly green.

"Are you okay?" Rachel asked, trying to keep her voice down because she knew how Santana could go from happy drunk to weepy drunk to pitifully hungover at the drop of a hat. Oh, and apparently she also got handsy with Quinn when drunk as well.

"It's official. Quinn's lost it," Santana groaned. "Your girlfriend is nuts, Rachel."

Rachel rolled her eyes and draped one of Santana's arms over her shoulders to heave her up. "Quinn is not nuts, she's drunk. As are you," Rachel corrected her somewhat impatiently. "And she's not my girlfriend."

Santana snickered. "I don't think she got that message."

The smaller brunette stopped and looked at Santana's face for a moment and then shook her head. "God only knows what your blood alcohol level is right now," Rachel remarked.

"I'm serious, Rachel."

"So am I, Santana."

"So you won't mind if I sleep with her again?"

"Sure."

"Really?"

"Absolutely not."

As they were stepping off the newly-fixed elevator onto the third floor, Santana pulled Rachel to a stop and, as seriously as she could possibly be while totally wasted, said to her, "She didn't shut up about you all night. Wouldn't stop going on about how pretty and how smart and how sweet and how _honest_ you were, and how much she wished you came with us."

Because _she– was– drunk_, Santana," Rachel replied in clipped tones. "Now she's sitting inside the kitchen, so not another word, alright? If you still wanna talk about it, we'll argue about it some more in the morning."

Santana yawned. " 'Kay. Sounds good."

When they went in, Quinn wasn't where Rachel had left her, but the glass of water was empty and she could hear her making sounds somewhere in the house. She deliberated, but finally decided to lay Santana down in her bed before going in search of Quinn; Rachel didn't exactly think of the possibility of finding Quinn on her way to Santana's curtained-off room, much less that the blonde might be half-naked upon finding her.

Yet there was Quinn, in the middle of the living room, trying to take her top off, the shades of the windows wide open for God and everyone to see. She stumbled and nearly fell, but Rachel was there with a hand on her elbow just in time to catch her.

"Damn, _chica_," Santana crowed, appreciatively eyeing Quinn's body and licking her lips. "Those abs are still as fine as I remember them." Santana reached out a finger to trace the contours of Quinn's well-toned stomach. "If I weren't already gay. . .. Hey! I Can help you outta that shirt!"

Quinn, however, was ignoring her in favor of Rachel's steadying grip. Her eyes turned imploringly to the only sober person currently in the room. "Rach, 'm not feeling so good," she told her friend, still wrestling with the fabric of her red blouse.

"It's going to be okay," Rachel told her, gently steering her to sit on the couch and pushing her hands away from her shirt. "I'll help you in just a second, okay? I'll be right back. Just sit here."

Quinn nodded, but that seemed to make her dizzier so her put her head in her hands.

Meanwhile, Rachel half-carried Santana into her makeshift room, pulled back the covers, and helped the girl into bed, pulling the comforter up around Santana's shoulders. She pushed a few errant strands of black hair behind Santana's ear. "I'll be back with a glass of water and some Advil as soon as I get Quinn situated." Santana nodded, then promptly fell asleep.

Taking care of two drunk former-HBICs was _not_ her favorite activity, Rachel decided as she hurried back into the living room, only to find Quinn gone again. This time though, she could hear the girl in the bathroom coughing. Santana was now asleep, so Rachel top priority was now Quinn. Not that there had been a second since Quinn tumbled through her door that the blonde hadn't been her priority.

"Quinn?" she called, knocking lightly on the door before pushing it open.

Quinn was knelt between the shower and the toilet, throwing up whatever alcohol she had put into her body that night. Her face was pale except for the same tint of green that Santana had had earlier, only made more noticeable by her pale and flawless complexion. She glistened with a sheen of sweat that started at her hairline and traveled down her jaw and neck, only disappearing beneath the crimson fabric of her shirt.

She looked up at Rachel and the brunette realized that perspiration wasn't the only moisture on her face. Tears were slipping from her currently green eyes, down her cheeks and lingering on her dry lips. All in all, Quinn was a complete mess, and Rachel still found her heartbreakingly beautiful and endearing.

"Oh, sweetie," Rachel breathed out, kneeling next to the blonde and pulling her hair back just as another wave of nausea overcame her body. It was all Rachel could do just to hold back Quinn's hair and rub her back and whisper reassurances as Quinn sobbed and vomited.

"I'm s-sorry, Rachel," Quinn wept when the sickness had passed. "I'm s-s-s. . ."

"Ssh, ssh, no," Rachel hushed her. "It's okay. This is what friends do, right?"

"Rachel?"

"Yes, Quinn?"

Quinn tugged at her top again. "Will you help me take it off? I"– another sob wracked Quinn's body– "I've tried, but it just won't come off and I'm so hot and. . . and . . ." Quinn was getting more and more hysterical.

"Ssh, come here," Rachel told her. She took a deep, steadying breath as she grasped the hem of the shirt and gently pulled it free from Quinn's overheated body. "There. Is that better?" she asked the blonde, who was now only bra-clad.

Of the many scenarios featuring a shirtless Quinn that Rachel's overactive imagination had conjured up in the last three weeks (and there had been _a lot_, mind you; so many that Rachel started to believe she was devolving into a teenage boy) this had not been one of them. While her fantasies involving Quinn had always been somewhat (okay_, totally_) sexually charged, in this real moment all Rachel could think about was caring for Quinn. Still, Rachel couldn't stop her face from flushing.

Quinn started crying again. "I'm sorry, Rachel. I'm making you so uncomfortable. I'm sorry."

"Hey, Quinn, I told you that it's okay," Rachel reminded her. "Actually, I kind of feel honored to be here for you when you're not feeling well. It makes me feel important . . . needed."

Quinn nodded with her head against Rachel's chest. "You are important, you're essential to my sanity. I need you, Rachel. I've always needed you, even when I was scared to admit it." She paused for a moment, still clinging to Rachel. In a far-off voice, she mused aloud, "I was so scared. . . Why was I so scared? It doesn't make any sense now. . . How could I be scared of something that makes me feel so safe, so _loved_ and cared for."

"You really are drunk," Rachel sighed, as if just realizing the extent of Quinn's intoxication.

Quinn crawled into Rachel's lap and relaxed into the diva's body. "Rachel?" she asked in a child-like voice.

"Yes, Quinn?"

"I'm scared now."

Hearing those words said in such a small voice from such a strong woman, Rachel couldn't help but tighten her arms around Quinn and run her fingers through her blonde locks. "What are you so scared of?" Rachel inquired, holding Quinn close. She smoothed her hand over the silky strands of Quinn's hair.

"Losing you," Quinn whispered, like she was afraid that if she said it any louder her fear would come true.

"Oh, Quinn," Rachel breathed, clutching Quinn just that much more.

"I can feel it happening," the blonde sobbed. "You're pulling away and I feel like I _just_ got you." Quinn sniffled. "I know it's my own fault. If I hadn't been so mean to you and so afraid and insecure, we could've been friends all of high school. I could have made you love me, because you're the type of person who could _actually_ care about me."

"Hey," Rachel cut in. She cupped Quinn's teary face in her hands, "That's not going to happen, okay?" Rachel brushed away a few tears from Quinn's face, but she could feel droplets slipping from her own eyes now as she looked earnestly into Quinn's eyes. "Quinn, you are _never_ going to lose me. _Ever_."

Rachel sighed and hugged Quinn, before standing up to retrieve a washcloth from the tower baskets near the door and wet it under the faucet. She looked down and held her hand out to Quinn. "Come here," she whispered, pulling Quinn to her feet and maneuvering her to rest against the vanity. "May I?" Rachel asked politely, holding the wet cloth and gesturing to Quinn's face. The taller girl nodded and Rachel took a step closer and gently took Quinn's chin in one hand while the other applied the cloth to the girl's flawless visage. She felt Quinn's hands come to grip her waist.

"Hey, Rach? What's that feeling you get when you feel like you've done something before? Thinking is hard for me right now," Quinn asked softly.

Rachel's brows pulled together. "You mean déjà vu?" she asked distractedly, wiping away the chilled sudor and sticky dried tears from the girl's cheeks.

Quinn smiled. "Yeah, déjà vu. This feels like déjà vu. Standing here with you," she explained, then she giggled. "Why is it that all the pro– prof– profou– all of the _im-por-tant_ moments in our relationship always happen in bathrooms or hallways?"

Rachel couldn't help but laugh at that herself, having not even realized the truth of that until now. "I guess I never thought of it before, but it is pretty funny," she said.

Quinn smiled sleepily and swayed to a song that must have been playing in her head. "I'm getting really tired," she told Rachel. Quinn lifted her arms around Rachel neck, causing Rachel to sway with her, and started humming. Rachel recognized it immediately as a song that had played constantly on the radio maybe six years ago.

Just as she expected Quinn knew she would, Rachel started singing as she led Quinn from the bathroom and into the living room.

_"'Cause it's you and me and all of the people with nothing to do  
Nothing to lose  
And it's you and me and all other people  
And I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you "_

Rachel wasn't sure what her plan had been in leaving the bathroom, but Quinn seemed to have a plan of her own, as she pulled Rachel to stop and looped her arms around the brunette's neck again. "Dance with me," Quinn whispered in a voice that left Rachel's resistance in ruins. "Just sing and sway."

_"What if the things that I want to say just aren't coming out right?  
I'm tripping on words  
You've got my head spinning  
I don't know where to go from here"_

Quinn's head fell to Rachel's shoulder, and for the millionth time that night, Rachel's breath caught in her throat. The way that Quinn's whole body sagged and molded into hers was nothing short of breathtaking.

Besides, it wasn't like Quinn was sober enough to be capable of remembering this in the morning, right? . . . Right? . . . ?

_"'Cause it's you and me and all of the people with nothing to do  
Nothing to lose  
And it's you and me and all other people  
And I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you  
and me and all other people with nothing to do  
Nothing to prove  
And it's you and me and all other people  
And I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you"_

Tears slipped from Rachel's eyes because if she had ever felt pain in her life, _this_ was it. Just _facing_ this and the truth of it was more painful than Finn putting her on a train to New York when they were supposed to be getting married and finding out that Brody was a prostitute put together. At least then she had known what she was going to be missing, but with Quinn, Rachel could only ever imagine. And that was the worst part.

_"What day is it?  
And in what month?  
This clock never seemed so alive"_


	4. A Choice To Be Made

_**So, before we get started on Part Four, I'd just like to say thanks to everyone who's favorited, followed, and/or reviewed. The response has been amazing and I've gotten some really great comments. Thanks, all! Now, without further ado, Part Four . . .**_

* * *

_Part Four: A Choice To Be Made_

Quinn couldn't remember the last time she had felt like this, if she had ever felt like this. Her head was screaming with pain, her stomach felt like it had hardened overnight, and God was clearly punishing her for last night's events because the sun was shining ten times brighter than normal. Yet, she had never felt this warm, this peaceful, and this _safe_ before.

Granted, Rachel hadn't woken up and freaked out yet, but still the feelings remained. And for the moment, Quinn could just revel in the feeling of being wrapped in Rachel's arms.

_God_, she was beautiful when she slept. Her brown hair fanned out across the pillows, her face devoid of any conflict, her mouth just perfectly poised with the corners pulled up in the tiniest smile. Quinn wondered what Rachel was dreaming about, but she had a feeling she already knew: Broadway, _Funny Girl_, stardom, . . . maybe . . . even love.

Quinn leaned up to place the softest of kisses on Rachel's forehead and snuggled in closer to the brunette's warmth. She felt Rachel stir ever so slightly. "Mm . . . Quinn," she breathed out on a sigh, her hold on Quinn tightening.

The smile that Quinn felt sneak across her face was unavoidable, because she knew Rachel _wanted_ to be holding her. Quinn wasn't taking advantage of an unconscious Rachel; if anything, she was making Rachel unconsciously _happy_, and that in turn, made Quinn happy. It left her feeling starstruck.

"Quinn?" she heard in a, still sleepy, but much more alert voice.

Quinn looked up to see that Rachel's eyes were now open and staring at Quinn as if waiting for the situation to catch up to the blonde and for Quinn to freak out, but that wasn't happening. Instead, Quinn smiled calmly and said, "Hi."

Rachel still looked a little confused, and it was honestly kind of adorable. "Hi . . ." she replied with uncertainty. Slowly, her eyes began to widen a little more as she became more and more aware of their positions. She tried to let go of Quinn and move away, but Quinn had a hold on her as well and had no intentions of letting go.

"Don't," Quinn told her, pulling Rachel back in. "Unless I'm making you uncomfortable, don't. I like this, it's comforting having someone so close like this." Quinn felt Rachel gradually relax. "Thank you, for taking care of me last night. You didn't have to do that."

Hesitantly, Rachel lifted her hand to smooth Quinn's silky strands of flaxen hair like she had the night before when comforting Quinn. "How much do you remember?"

The blonde tried unsuccessfully to hold in a laugh. "Um, well. . ." She thought hard about it. "I remember drinking and dancing with Santana at the bar, and then . . . I think we might've been talking. Next thing I remember, I was here and you were holding my hair back and . . .. Did we actually dance in the living room, or was that part a dream?"

"No, that actually happened. I didn't know you liked Lifehouse," Rachel said matter-of-factly. "Oh, and you and Santana will not be drinking alone together from now on–"

Quinn groaned. "Oh, _God_. What did I do this time?"

"Aside from trying to take your top off because you were overheating, and then ultimately asking me to do it for you because you lacked the motor function to do so, you didn't do anything," Rachel explained, causing Quinn to look down and see that she was wearing a lightweight camisole.  
"Santana, however," the diva went on, "decided that, after sleeping for several minutes while I was taking care of you, she was going to _literally_ _fall_ out of her room and cut in on our dance, singing– very loudly and off-key, might I add– "Sex on Fire" by Kings of Leon. Then you began trying to sing over her and _let me tell you_, "Sex on Fire" and "You and Me" do _not_ make a good mash-up. Afterwards, Santana got a bit handsy with you, you got a bit irritated with her, so I gave Santana a ZzzQuil liquicap and you the tank-top you're currently wearing, and sent you both to bed. . . in, um, separate rooms."

Quinn started laughing and found she couldn't stop. Rachel caught the giggle-bug and soon after was laughing hysterically as well. They laughed until they cried and their chuckles subsided enough for Quinn to finally comment. She pulled herself up a little so that she could lay her head on Rachel's shoulder and exhaled a tranquil breath.

"I'm sorry you had to put up with all of that," she said when her breathing finally evened out. "But I'm kind of glad you sent me to your bed last night." The way that Quinn was looking at Rachel made Rachel's throat dry up like the Sahara. "And thanks for not taking advantage. Not that Santana ever took advantage, but . . . just . . . I'm sure I wasn't the easiest person to deal with."

"Well," Rachel began, putting her hands together and setting them between her head and pillow as she turned on her side to face Quinn fully, "I'm not sure if you remember what I told you last night, but I'll tell you again. I'm honored to be your friend and help you when you need help, and it makes me feel important that you trust me to do that."

Quinn copied Rachel's position, laying on her side with her hands folded under her head. "You've never lied to me before, recent scares and prostitute boyfriends aside. You've never given me a reason to _not_ trust you, Rachel." She reached out and grasped Rachel's bare wrist when the other girl frowned broodingly. "And I am _truly_ sorry for not confiding in you about my . . . _one-night stand_? With Santana. I was just scared you would react badly."

Rachel snickered dryly. "Which I did."

Quinn shrugged. "Maybe at first, but in the scenario I had in my head, you never spoke to me after you found out. You haven't left yet," she admitted.

Rachel opened her mouth and it wasn't until then that Quinn realized how close their faces had gotten throughout their conversation. Quinn felt herself becoming mesmerized by those big, brown eyes, and found herself leaning in ever closer. It was like she was watching them from the outside but through her own eyes as well, and she didn't care to question it when her gaze shifted from Rachel's eyes to her lips.

She _wanted_ her.

"I–" Rachel breathed, and she was so close that Quinn could feel her breath.

Then the door banged open.

"Morning, bitches!"

There had been a lot of moments throughout their friendship when Quinn had wanted to slap Santana (and a few when she actually had), but never as much as in that moment, when the words that Rachel had been about to speak to her died on the girl's rose petal lips and the easy glow in her brown orbs was suddenly extinguished. Quinn made a mental note to shove Santana down the nearest set of stairs. Or maybe just the next available elevator shaft.

"I need to go shower," Rachel said quickly, darting from the room with a speed that wouldn't be expected of a five-foot-nothing girl.

* * *

The anger of Santana ruining her moment with Rachel had faded, and in its wake was the earth-shattering realization that she had _had_ a moment with Rachel. She was confused and shocked and amazed and cautiously happy, because Rachel hadn't pulled away, and that had to _mean_ something.

Meanwhile, Santana stared at Quinn until she couldn't take the silence anymore. "What the hell just happened? Clue me in, Q, 'cause I'm _jodido_ lost."

Quinn numbly sat up and moved next to Santana on the edge of the bed, and Santana sat with her entire body turned toward the blonde, waiting with an amount of patience that was completely out of character for her. Quinn tried desperately to process everything:

the warmth and the words and that slow lean in when Quinn felt everything building between herself and Rachel. She _wanted_ her. And in true Fabray fashion, she had been recklessly about to take her.

"I . . . I almost kissed her," Quinn whispered eventually, her voice hoarse. She glanced up to Santana, and for the first time she really looked _at_ Santana instead of seeing _through_ her. "I wanted to kiss Rachel, Santana. Like I _really_ wanted to kiss her. And I . . ." – she looked to Santana with apprehension and incredulity in her gold-green eyes – "S, I _felt something._"

Santana looked at her like she'd grown a second head. "Um, well, _yeah_. That's kind of what happens when you've been sharing this massive sexual-tension with the girl since freshman year," Santana returned, as if this should have been the most obvious thing in the world. Quinn shot her a quizzical stare and the reality hit Santana like a matador bull. "_Santo mierda_, Q, are you _just_ _now_ realizing this?"

"You're _not_?!" Quinn nearly shrieked in outrage, jumping out of her seat. "You knew I was in l– That I had this. . . this . . . _crush_ on Rachel all these years, and you never thought to clue me in?"

"Whoa!" Santana snapped, standing up and facing Quinn head-on. "Don't be playing the victim with me, Q, I know you better than that! If I'da come right out and told you that you had the hots for Man-Hands Berry, you woulda made my life a living hell. You think I didn't _try_ to throw you a couple of hints? Do the words 'stop making out with Berry' ring any bells?"

Quinn dropped back down onto the bed, her eyes glazed over with shock yet again. "I thought I hated her. I made _her_ think I hated her. I did so many horrible things to her. How could I have not known?" the blonde asked, more to herself than her friend.

"De Nile in't just a river runnin' through Egypt, Fabray; it's a tricky bastard. It really messes with your head, makes you see _everything_ back asswards," Santana said in her own variation of comfort. She could see the conflict running through Quinn's mind reflected on her face.

"But what does it _mean_?" Quinn whined, laying her head on her best friend's shoulder.

"It _means_ that you're gay for Rachel–"

"What?! Quinn shouted indignantly, as if the thought had never occurred to her.

" – and there's nothing wrong with that!" Santana continued in a yell in order to be heard over Quinn's reproach. "Seriously, Q, it's not the end of the world. _I'm_ gay, and I'm your best friend who fell stupid-in-love with our other best friend, broke her heart, and got bitch-slapped by karma so hard that now I'm broken too and she's moved on with her life and then I had a one-night stand with you and hurt our _other_ other best friend–"

"–What were you saying about nothing's wrong with being gay?" Quinn shot back sarcastically.

"–And suddenly I'm realizing that maybe I'm not the _best_ example," Santana admitted, continuing on pointedly.

She looked at Quinn with a wicked smirk that the blonde rarely saw on the raven-haired girl these days. "But, speaking as someone who's been there, done you, and tapped that"– Santana ignored Quinn's squawk of half-indignation and half-laughter –"you're actually pretty damn good at this. Too good to be a one-timer, anyway.

"Look, Quinn, you have _feelings_ for Rachel," Santana said. "_Real_ feelings. Like I had with Brittany. And I think it's time to face facts that –when you _really_ think about it– those feelings have been there for awhile, and they're _not_ going away." Santana paused. "Take it from someone who knows a whole lot about what happens when you let fear control what you do, it never ends well."

The raven-haired girl played with a bright blue band on her pinky finger. "Love is . . . honestly, it's fucking terrifying, Quinn. It just is. And all these fairytales about true love and 'happily ever after'? It's bullshit. True love and happiness? They're things that take endurance and heartache and hard work to get, and even then it's still hard. But maybe that's what makes it so great. Maybe love is so great because it's _worth_ all that pain and struggle."

Santana met her eyes and Quinn could see the heartbreak and self-regret swimming in those sharp, dark eyes as the brunette said, "So you have to decide whether it's worth the risk. Whether _she's_ worth the risk. You have a choice, of putting your heart on the line and facing the pain, or turning around and getting back on that train and going home to the safety of those ivy-covered walls with a big 'what if' hanging over you. But it is _your_ choice, and no one can make it for you, not even Rachel."


	5. That Epic Moment When

**Part Five: That Epic Moment When. . .**

* * *

She was on her third cappuccino and midway through her Psych 102 paper, when she glanced to the clock and saw that it was three minutes til two in the morning. She was so tired that she could legitimately fall asleep standing up and the essay wasn't due until Monday morning, but Quinn was leaving tomorrow to go visit Rachel . . . and Santana and Kurt, for the weekend; she didn't want to have homework getting in the way of spending precious time with Rachel . . . and her friends, of course.

Quinn jumped three feet in the air at the sound of someone knocking on a door. It took her exhausted brain several seconds to realize that the knocking was coming from _her_ door and she squinted at it skeptically. Who would visit her at two in the morning? Hell, hardly anyone ever visited her during _waking_ hours. She had a few study friends in her classes and a couple of kids in Welch Hall that she occasionally hung out with, but most of her time was spent studying during the week so she could go to The City on the weekends.

Part of her wanted to ignore the person behind door 443, but if the persistent knocking were anything to go by, whoever wanted to see her _really_ wanted to see her. Plus, she was pretty sure that allowing someone to bang on her door and wake the whole dormitory up at 2am was a pretty surefire way to lose the few friends she had made at Yale. So, reluctantly, she answered it, not knowing what to expect when she did.

Her eyes bugged when she recognized the person at standing in her doorway. "Ra- Rachel?! What are you doing here?" Quinn asked in shock, taking in the tiny diva standing before Quinn, dressed in her favorite vermilion pea coat, and red high-heels.

Rachel put a hand on Quinn's left collarbone and pushed the blonde back into the dorm room as she said, "I had to see you."

Quinn allowed Rachel to push her further into the room until her knees hit the bed and she fell onto the mattress. Still slightly stunned, she took Rachel's hands in her own. "Rachel, you can always come to me. You can tell me anything," she said earnestly. "What happened? What's wrong?"

A small smile spiked the corners of Rachel's remarkable lips. "It's not something I can _tell_ you. I can't say it in words, Quinn. It's something I have to _show_ you," Rachel explained, taking a half-step back.

Giving Rachel a sweet smile, Quinn nodded in acceptance. "You can trust me, Rach."

"I know that," Rachel answered, a small blush rising to her cheeks, "_now_. That's why I came."

Upon Quinn's puzzled look, Rachel took another step back, playing with the buttons on her coat until her fidgeting fingers had undone all of them. Her eyes met Quinn's and that intense heat that Quinn had felt while wrapped in Rachel's arms returned with a vengeance. She untied the knot from the coat belt around her waist, and shrugged the coat off, allowing it to fall to the floor.

Quinn, however, was more focused on what Rachel was wearing _underneath_ the coat; or rather, what she _wasn't_ wearing. The blonde felt her face heat up and she swallowed thickly. Rachel had always left her tongue-tied, but this was a whole new level of speechlessness.

Because Rachel was _beautiful_. The smooth contours of her torso. The way that the planes of her toned abdomen gave way to the smoothness below, effortlessly coinciding with the gentle dip of her waist before the delicate arch of her hips began. Quinn wondered at the alluring curves of Rachel's muscular legs, from glossy thighs to rounded knees to sculpted calves. Seeing parts of Rachel that she had never seen before left Quinn in absolute awe of the girl's perfection.

"_God_, you are so beautiful," she breathed, unable to stop herself. She looked into Rachel's eyes and all she could think to say was, "I love you, Rachel."

Rachel smirked a deviously delicious smile. "Does this mean that my plan to seduce you is working?" she asked with a coy bat of her eyelashes. She took steps closer to Quinn. "You don't have to just look. You can touch too, if you want."

"I do. But first. . ." Quinn stood up, unintentionally causing their bodies to be flush against one another, and she shivered at the contact.

Her eyes stayed locked on Rachel's gaze until the very last inch, when her eyes finally flitted to those rose petal lips she had fantasized about unknowingly for years. Then those lips were captured between her own and Rachel was sighing into her mouth, her bare body pressing into Quinn. Her hands slid through Rachel's luscious tendrils of hair as she cradled the brunette's head in her hands, urging their mouths together while she suckled on the smaller girl's pouty lower lip.

Quinn broke the kiss only long enough to lean in to whisper into Rachel's ear, "You never needed a plan to seduce me, Rachel. You've been doing it since the day we met."

"Mmm," Rachel hummed from somewhere deep in the back of her throat. "Oh _God_, Quinn!"

If Rachel's body hadn't already been bare, Quinn would have been ripping her clothes off with reckless abandon. As it were, she lifted Rachel up and spun her around so she was sprawled across Quinn's bed, and Quinn finally had her right where she wanted her. She lowered herself to hover mere centimeters over Rachel's naked body.

She was about to finally, _finally_ do all the things to Rachel that she desperately wanted to do–

* * *

Quinn's eyes cracked open and she looked around confusedly. She was laying on her bed in her dorm room, but her back was flat against the mattress, she was covered in a cool sheen of sweat, her hands clutching the sheets beneath her, and she was completely alone. The only explanation for her drastic scene-shift was the molten lava that was boiling in her belly and the throbbing pressure between her thighs.

Before she even knew what she was doing, her phone was in her hand and she had speed dialed a familiar number. The second the ringing stopped, her breath caught.

"I'm officially losing my sanity," Quinn shot off before Santana could even greet her.

"Quinn? _Miel_, that's been gone for awhile," the Latina returned groggily. Santana paused and Quinn heard shuffling. "_Santa Madre de Dios_, Quinn! Do you have any idea what time it is?"

In truth, Quinn hadn't even bothered with the time, but the April sun was glaring at her through the window. "Um, morning?"

"It's 6am, Q. What do you want?"

"I had a dream about Rachel," Quinn explained.

"_Ay Dios mios_, Q. It is way too early in the morning for me to handle your lesbian love angst," Santana griped There was a long, heavy pause between them before Santana's foggy mind processed Quinn's words. "Whoa. Hold on a minute. Was this Rachel-dream a _sex_ dream?" Another long silence from Quinn. "Oh my God! You had a sex dream about Rachel Berry!"

"SANTANA! Keep your voice down. Remember that you _live with her_," Quinn hissed.

Santana scoffed through the phone line, "As if I could forget." She was quiet again and Quinn swore she could _hear_ Santana smirking. "She's in the shower right now. You know, all warm and wet and steamy, little beads of water running down between her–"

"Yes, Santana! I get it. Thank you," Quinn snapped briskly. "Believe me, the mental images are not needed. My brain seems perfectly capable of coming up with them all on its own."

Another long stretch of silence. "_So_?" Santana demanded finally.

"So?" Quinn repeated.

Santana let out a groan of exasperation. "My God, you are so _dense_ sometimes! I'm talking about the dream-sex with Dream-Rachel! How was it? Did she get you there?" the raven-haired woman questioned eagerly.

"If you're this excited about my imaginary sex life, I hate to think what it's going to be like when I actually _am_ having sex," Quinn deadpanned, but she knew Santana wouldn't stop without an in-depth explanation. "Fine. I was in my dorm room and Rachel showed up at, like, two in the morning and–"

"Did she sing?"

"What? No, she didn't sing. Do you want me to tell you or not?"

"Sorry. Please continue."

"Anyway, she kept telling me she needed to see me and she needed to show me something. She took off her coat and she was wearing _nothing_ underneath. I must have been staring because she told me, um, that I could . . . touch . . . if I wanted to," Quinn described awkwardly. "I kissed her and it was, like . . . _wow_! I can't even put it into words. It was the best kiss I've never had. Then I laid her down, but right before we could, you know, get anywhere . . . I woke up."

"Wow, that really sucks," Santana remarked. "All that build-up? I bet you're frustrated right now. Or did you already relieve that tension yourself, Q?"

"I swear, sometimes I forget why we're friends," Quinn said impassively. "But, I mean, what do I do?"

She must have caught Santana unawares, because the girl took a moment to answer. "What do you do? I would have thought that would have been kind of obvious. I don't know, if the whole self-loving thing doesn't go for you, Q, maybe you should take a cold shower."

"Not that! I mean about Rachel! What am I going to do, Santana? I'll be at the loft by tonight, and how am I supposed to look at Rachel without picturing her all. . ."

"Naked and sexy?" Santana supplied. She sighed somberly, "Quinn, I've told you what to do– tell her! She's not going to reject you, so do us all a favor and just profess your undying love for her already! Then you can get it on for reals."

Quinn groaned and fell back onto her pillow with her phone still clutched in her hand. "Santana . . . it's different with Rachel," she said sounding helpless. "Wanting her . . . it isn't about popularity or status or just making myself feel good, like it was with everyone else I've ever dated. I've never actually liked anyone I've been with, except for maybe Puck because he's Beth's father and even now he's always there for me as my friend.

"But with Rachel . . . I don't want to just use her or fuck her, okay? I'm in love with her. I want to _be_ with her." She could feel herself getting emotional now, and she was thinking now that maybe Santana was right; maybe it was too early in the morning for angst. "And I'm scared, because she makes me feel things that I've never felt before."

Quinn sucked in a calming breath. "Santana, I have messed up _so much_ with Rachel. There's been so many times when she's had every right to walk out of my life forever, but if I let her in and she finally leaves . . ." Quinn took the phone away from her head and stifled a sob through her hand, trying to reign in her 'angst' before continuing to talk to Santana.

Santana's response was much less dramatic. "Are you done yet?" And when Quinn didn't say anything further, she went on, "Q, you're right. You've fucked up things with Rachel a lot, we both have, but the fact that she has never given up on us should be a pretty clear indicator that she's not going to. Even if we want her to, which from time to time, I kind of do.  
"And the wanting her for more than social advantage or sex? Wanting to really _be_ with her? Quinn, that's _healthy_. You _should_ want that, but it's okay be scared too. I always was when I was with Brittany. The fact is that it's easier without feelings; it feels safer because you feel like your heart isn't on the line. But what's it even worth if none of it is real?"

Quinn sighed. "I want to tell her, but what if she doesn't want me after everything I've done to hurt her? How could she ever trust me? Especially after I lied to her about the two of us hooking up? And after adding that to my reputation as a cheater . . . ?"

"You cheated on people who didn't really mean anything to you. Rachel does," Santana reminded her. "Wake up, Quinn! She _loves_ you! She always has, and she's been waiting for you all these years. It's her, Q. It's always _been_ her. Open your eyes and do something, or shut up about it. You can't play on the safe side forever and I'm tired of fighting the two of you on this."

Quinn sighed, feeling the relentless inner turmoil churn inside of her, She had deluded herself into thinking that maybe, just maybe, if she left things alone, then both she and Rachel could move on and move past this . . . whatever it was . . . that was between them. She was jittery with anxiety, and she knew it wouldn't go away until she saw Rachel.

"I'll be in New York in a few hours," she decided aloud.

"What about your classes?" Santana asked.

"They'll be there on Tuesday after I get back," Quinn concluded. "Text me to let me know when Rachel gets out of the shower. And thanks, Santana."

* * *

Kurt knew Santana's Satan-face when he saw it, and he was seeing it now. Which was scary, for several reasons. First of all, to see Santana's face _at all_ at this hour after she had worked the night before was virtually unheard of. Second, the Satan-Face was terrifying at _any_ hour. Third and perhaps most importantly, she didn't look like she was out to get some_one_, she looked like she was out to get some_thing_, and since she was looking at Kurt, it didn't mean anything good for him.

"Morning, Satan– uh, Santana," Kurt quickly corrected himself. He looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. "You're awake early," he added in an attempt to distract her from his slip-up.

From the look in her eyes, Santana _had_ noticed the slip-up, but she didn't seem fazed by it in the least. "Kurt," she greeted him, stepping into the bathroom and rifling through her newly-presented drawers. She grabbed her facial cleanser and toothbrush, and Kurt moved a step over to make room for her. "Morning, Rachel Rae," she called over the sound of the showerhead.

Rachel's head peeked out from behind the curtain and she looked in astonishment at Santana. "Hey. Uh. . . Santana, didn't you work an eight-to-two shift last night?" She exchanged looks with Kurt.

"Yeah," Santana said, her mouth full of toothpaste. She spit in the sink and looked back up to her roommates. "Collegiate-Barbie decided she needed to call me at six a.m. with a crisis, so I got up. Figured I'd sneak in a run before Q graced us with presence."

"Are you planning on running for ten hours?" Kurt asked dryly. "Because that's insane, even for you."

Santana shot him a look as she finished brushing her teeth. "Kurt, I'm currently running on _less than_ four hours of sleep. Don't push me," she warned him. "And, to answer your passive-aggressive little question, no, I am not going to run for ten hours. Quinn's on her way here now."

They both heard a _thunk_ and Rachel muttering expletives Santana hadn't known were in Rachel's (sometimes irritatingly) extensive vocabulary. Then the brunette's head appeared from behind the shower curtain again. "Q-Quinn . . . is coming . . . now?" she asked in disjointed syllables.

"That's what I said," Santana confirmed, and Kurt was catching on to _exactly_ what Santana was up to now.

"Coming _here_ now?" the diva squeaked, her eyes getting wider.

Santana rolled her eyes and splashed water on her face. "No, she's coming to Zimbabwe. _Yes_ here, Rachel," Santana sniped, her impatience beginning to get the best of her.

Rachel was now gaping like a rainbow trout. "But- but she has classes! Quinn wouldn't miss her classes, unless– OH MY GOD! Is she okay?!"

"RACHEL, CALM DOWN!" both Kurt and Santana yelled at her at the same time.

"Breathe, sweetie," Kurt reminded her, pulling the curtain back over Rachel's line of sight and shooting Santana a 'what-the-hell?' sort of look.

"She's fine, Rach," Santana assured her, shrugging back at Kurt. "She just couldn't wait to see you– uh, us. She's had a . . . _frustrating_ week." Her eyes met Kurt's meaningfully at this, and his own eyes widened in sudden understanding. She continued talking to Rachel in a calming voice, "Quinn just needs to be with people who love her right now."

"Then it's good she's coming here," Rachel stated decisively. "I'll make sure she's feeling much better by the end of the day."

"I know you will," Santana replied. She tried to keep the suggestiveness out of her voice, but she wasn't sure how successful her attempts were. "Well, I'm out. I'll let you finish your shower." Santana strode to the door with Kurt right behind her, but as she exited she couldn't resist throwing over her shoulder, "Don't forget to shave!"

"_SANTANA_!" the two heard her shriek as the door closed behind them.

Kurt pursed his lips at her as she cackled. "Was that _really_ necessary?" he demanded.

"Hey, you can take the girl out of the bitch, but you can't take the bitch out of the girl," Santana demanded, still smirking. "I can't help it, and she knows I do it because I love her. If I started being nice _all_ the time, she'd think I was up to something."

"And Quinn? You _had_ to mention that while she was _in the shower_?" Kurt's face was the perfect image of disapproval.

Santana's face turned more somber. "Rachel is a mature adult–"

"Unlike someone else we know," Kurt griped under his breath.

"And relatively innocent for a girl who does yoga and palates every morning and can _literally_ bend over backwards. I'm telling you, _that_ girl is _flexible_," Santana stated, equally impressed and suggestive.

"While she was _naked_. _In the shower_," Kurt repeated, enunciating every syllable slowly.

Santana didn't say anything. She simply stood there, looking at Kurt with an emotionless face and making him feel like he was being x-rayed. He squirmed under her gaze before she finally said, "It is _not_ my fault that Quinn and Rachel get turned on at the mere mention of each other's names," she defended herself calmly, as if making a formal statement. "_And_, Quinn's already a ball of sexually frustrated nerves. So if Rachel is too . . ." She let her sentence taper off and settle in Kurt's brain.

He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're insane," he stated very clearly, "and if Quinn or Rachel ever found out what you're doing right now, they would _kill you_ and bring you back so they could kill you again."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take," Santana concluded confidently.

* * *

Despite Santana's reassurance, Rachel still felt worried over Quinn and what sort of crisis she might be in. It was second-nature for her to want to know everything, but with Quinn it was different. She didn't feel like she wanted to know everything; she felt like she _needed_ to know everything. The fact that Quinn had gone to Santana in her time of need instead of Rachel made the brunette feel like the second-choice, much the same as she had when Quinn had chosen Santana to 'experiment' with.

_What's wrong with _me_?_ Rachel wondered, sighing aloud.

Her phone rang then, and she dug in her coat pocket where she had put it earlier before going for a walk in the nearest park. The caller ID read Quinn's name, and for a fleeting moment Rachel thought about ignoring the call, but how would that make anything better? It wouldn't, and if Rachel were being honest with herself, she really just needed to hear Quinn's voice. So she answered her phone before it could go to voicemail.

"Hello, Quinn," she answered in a polite, yet restrained voice.

"Hi," Quinn greeted her brightly. "I was afraid you were in class or something. I realized I don't know your schedule, I should probably work on that." She laughed lightly, and Rachel found herself trying to halt her face from smiling. "Anyway, I wanted to tell you that I'm coming into New York early today."

Rachel resisted the urge to roll her eyes petulantly. Of course Quinn would only think to tell her as an afterthought. "I know. Santana told me this morning," Rachel said in flat voice.

"Oh," was Quinn's reply, but her voice was strangled, like she was trying to hide disappointment. The blonde sighed on the other line. "And since you found out from Santana first, probably _right_ after she got off the phone with me, you're wondering why I'm only telling you now." It was a statement, not a question.

Rachel cursed how well Quinn could read her, even when they weren't within sight of one another. Quinn knew her. Quinn was silent for long enough that Rachel let out an impatient sigh and said, "You don't have to give me an excuse, Quinn. It's probably none of my business anyway."

"You're upset," Quinn noted, and Rachel could practically hear her frown. "Rach, I shouldn't have even told Santana. I should have known she would tell you that I was coming early and blow a hole in my plans."

That stopped Rachel mid-eye roll. "What plans?" she asked.

"The only way you'll find out is if you turn around," Quinn sing-songed playfully.

Unable to resist the sudden temptation, Rachel slowly swiveled to see Quinn standing a little distance away, phone still to her ear, beaming in her direction and waving. When Quinn was sure Rachel had seen her, she began walking forward and ended the call when they were well within earshot of each other.

Quinn wore and apologetic look on her face and a sheepish grin. "I was trying to surprise you," she explained as she stepped in arm's reach. She held her arms out to each side, waiting for one of Rachel's hugs that Quinn so cherished. When Rachel didn't immediately step into her arms, the shy smile fell from Quinn's face and she asked, "Are you still mad?"

Rachel felt her heart beat hard. Once. Twice. Then her face split into a smile and she shook her head. "I'm not mad," she said. "I'm just surprised."

Laughing at the irony, Rachel flung herself into the blonde's embrace, wrapping her arms around Quinn's neck and holding her tightly. She inhaled the cucumber-melon aroma of Quinn's hair and the sugary floral smell that Rachel had come to know was Quinn's all-natural scent. She had needed this. She had needed Quinn. She wondered if this feeling of longing was ever going to go away and she silently hoped that it wouldn't.

"I'm sorry that I upset you," Quinn apologized into Rachel's ear. "I really was just trying to surprise you."

"Well, I'm definitely surprised," Rachel told her, pulling away reluctantly. She looked Quinn over and noticed the lack of luggage. "Have you already been to the loft?"

"Yeah. Kurt told me I'd find you here so I left my things there and came to look for you," she explained with that smile that Rachel thought Quinn reserved just for her.

The feeling of déjà vu had been nagging at Rachel for several moments now and she suddenly realized why upon taking a closer look at Quinn. "You're coat," she said out loud, causing Quinn to look at her oddly. "You've worn this in New York before. When we were here for Nationals. We should have been writing songs but we all went out to the park and we were all so excited to finally be at Nationals and in The Big Apple. You and I were walking beside each other on the path," Rachel remembered, taking Quinn's arm through her own. "I remember you were upset, Finn had just broken up with you at Jean Sylvester's funeral." She glanced sideways at Quinn to see the blonde looking at her with a familiar smirk. "We were talking and actually getting along, because you were so sad and I just wanted to say anything to make it better for you. Finally, I just said–"

"I'm going to hug you now'," Quinn cut in, remembering that day clearly now. "And you did." Quinn imitated the moment by throwing an arm over Rachel's shoulders as they walked. "I even felt a little better after that."

"Until I went on a date with Finn and you found out and tried to sabotage the competition," Rachel carried on, catching Quinn unawares.

"Ye– Whoa! Wait! What?!" Quinn stopped suddenly, causing Rachel to stop as well, if only just to grin wickedly at her. "How did you know. . .?

"Santana told me," Rachel explained, laughing at Quinn's fish-out-of-water impression.

"And you're not angry?"

Rachel looked at her with a hand on her hip. "Quinn Fabray,"– she paused to face Quinn fully and grip the lapels of the girl's coral-colored jacket– "how often do I actually get _genuinely_ angry at you?" she asked.

Quinn seemed to think about it for a minute, before linking her arm through Rachel's again. "Point taken," she admitted, fighting a smile.

They continued walking in silence for a few more minutes. It was probably the longest Quinn had ever heard Rachel be totally silent while she was awake, but she definitely felt better when Rachel began talking again.

"Santana mentioned you had a frustrating week," Rachel remarked openly, leaving it up to Quinn whether she wanted to talk about it or not.

A scowl of annoyance and resentment took over Quinn's lovely features. "She did, did she?" Her scowl deepened when Rachel nodded. "I'm starting to think we should start talking directly to each other instead of telling Santana everything. Messages seem to get mixed when she passes them along."

Rachel laughed and Quinn smiled at the sound, letting it reverberate across her skin and relax her whole body. She took Rachel's dainty hand in hers, admiring it for a few moments as they continued walking before letting their joined hands swing together between them. _Man-Hands?_ Where ever had she even gotten _that_ from? Rachel's hands were so tiny and delicate, with long, lithe pianist's fingers. To imagine . . .

"I was frustrated," Quinn said simply. She squeezed Rachel's hand in hers, "But I'm better now . . ." _that I'm with you_, she wanted to add, but that would be too forward of her.

Rachel ducked her head. "But you probably want to get back to the apartment to talk to Santana about it," she sighed, trying unsuccessfully to conceal her disappointment.

Quinn chuckled softly. "No."

The brunette's head perked up. "No?"

"Nope," Quinn repeated. She squeezed Rachel's hand, wishing she could just be holding Rachel's entire body again. "I came to New York early to spend the day with _you_, Rachel. I'm all yours." Quinn wasn't sure if Rachel caught the double meaning in her statement, but the brunette's eyes sparked for a second, as if in recognition.

"Would it be weird if I said that I think I like that?" Rachel asked sheepishly.

This time Quinn couldn't help it. She spun Rachel out like they were dancing, and snapped the brunette back to her body in a close embrace. "I would be disappointed if you didn't," she answered as Rachel's hands came up to tangle in her blonde locks and she laughed.

* * *

** Sorry for the delay, everyone. I hope no one has given up on me; it's just been an insane week at school, seeing as we just starting the six-week countdown to the end of the semester. Anyway, hope you liked. R&Rs always make me a happy H.J.  
LUVS.**


	6. What Should Have Been

**Part Six: What Should Have Been . . .**

"Rachel. I'm serious. Let. It. Go," Quinn demanded firmly, trying to keep her frustration in check

Quinn had one side of the leather-bound check holder in a death-grip, while Rachel was being stubborn and clinging onto the other with a face that was red partly from embarrassment and partly from her hot temper. There were a lot of battles that Quinn had lost to Rachel in the past, but this was not going to be another one. _But_ God_, the diva was strong for being such a small girl._ Who would have known that taking an unknowing Rachel Berry on a very sneaky date would be so damn difficult?

Once they had left the park, Quinn had asked Rachel if she wanted to get lunch, and surprised her by knowing of a vegan-friendly restaurant not too far from where they were. It felt good to spend time together, just the two of them; they hadn't really had any quality time since the summer before they went off to college and now it was April. Quinn had missed the way that she had found she and Rachel could talk easily about anything and everything or nothing at all, how Rachel would pause and blush and offer an apology when she realized that she had been dominating the conversation, the way Rachel always spoke with theatric hand gestures and tried to imitate the voices of their friends, or touched her in some way to show comfort or support or pride in her. Throughout their entire conversation, Quinn had begun to realize just how far back she had had these feelings for the animated brunette.

"Rachel, _please_," Quinn found herself begging when several moments went by and Rachel had yet to release her hold on the bill fold. "Come on. I asked you to lunch, I want to pay, so just let it go."

"Why do you want to pay so badly anyway?" Rachel huffed.

"Because," Quinn began. Rachel didn't expect her to say anything beyond that but again Quinn surprised her. "Because when you ask someone else out on a lunch date, it's simple etiquette that the asker pays the bill."

Rachel saw the look in Quinn's hazel eyes and heard the serious tone in her voice. She reluctantly released the leather booklet and sat back in her seat. "Fine. I will surrender _for the time being_, but the next time we go out, I will pay," she stated firmly, leaving no room for arguments.

Quinn stopped midway through putting the tip on the receipt and sliding her card in the fold. "Next time?" Quinn questioned, trying to hide a smile.

"Lunch date?" Rachel parried, lifting an eyebrow in perfect imitation of Quinn.

Immediately, Quinn ducked her head and went on with what she had been doing, if only to hide the scarlet blush on her cheeks.

It felt nice to walk with Rachel in New York, to feel the brunette's hand brush against hers, and to know that Rachel was at least somewhat enjoying herself. There was only one problem though. The silence was back, and it was stifling Quinn. She needed to hear Rachel's voice like she needed air to breathe.

Courage finally plucked up, Quinn reached for the hand that swung beside her own. It felt natural to hold Rachel's hand, because, despite Santana's sarcastic jibes at Rachel's small stature, Quinn only had two – maybe three – inches on Rachel, versus the six or seven inches that guys usually had on her, and their hands hung at roughly the same level. After dredging up the courage, it was easy to reach for Rachel's hand. Except maybe for the fact that it did its intended job of drawing the diva's attention to her, and her questions.

"Are you going to tell me?" the brunette asked softly, a hint of dejectedness in Rachel's voice despite her obvious efforts to conceal it from Quinn.

Quinn mulled it over for a moment, and then an idea stopped her in her tracks. Because their hands were still attached, this caused Rachel to stop too, and she looked questioningly at Quinn, who smiled reassuringly. "I have an idea," the blonde told her. "Did you ever play Truth in junior high?"

Rachel's questioning look didn't fade as she shook her head 'no'.

"Okay, well, it's a game that Santana and I used to play at cheer camp, only back then we were always trying to one-up each other. We would ask each other questions that the other probably really didn't want to answer, and we had to answer them honestly or else we had to forfeit," Quinn explained. "Basically, it's like Truth or Dare, but without the Dare."

"O. . . _kay_," Rachel began with uncertainty. "How is this relevant to my question?"

Quinn smiled. "Because you asked me a _question_, so if I answer your question, then ask you one and you have to answer," the blonde explained. "We take turns."

"And try to one-up each other?" Rachel teased. A sparkle of competitiveness ignited in her big brown eyes and she smiled challengingly.

The blonde couldn't help but laugh and pull Rachel closer to her side. "How about we just try to understand each other for now?" she suggested, though she knew what Rachel was thinking.

"Deal," Rachel agreed with much less enthusiasm.

"You can go first. Ask me anything."

Rachel seemed to think hard about it, and a few times her hand gripped Quinn's tighter, as if by sheer reflex to keep Quinn from running. "Something's been bothering you all day. I can see it in your eyes. What's bothering you?" Rachel finally asked.

"I . . ." Quinn began. _Damn, leave it to Rachel to ask the hardest question first._ She sighed and watched Rachel's face for her reactions as they walked. "It's like. . .. It's like I _want_ to be happy, but . . . I promised myself that I wouldn't allow my happiness to depend on another person again, and now it kind of does." She looked to the brunette, "Does that satisfy your question? Because I know it's kind of vague."

Rachel nodded. "That's okay. I know more now than I did before. I know you'll tell me the extended version when you're ready." She seemed to laugh at her own words and continued, "Go ahead. It's your turn."

Quinn's replied was almost automatic. "What's your favorite color? I've been trying to figure it out for _years_. It's driving me crazy."

Rachel burst out laughing. "Well, Quinn, if I had known you cared so much . . ." the smaller girl giggled. "It's gold."

All expression faded from Quinn's face and she stared at Rachel blankly for a few moments before bursting out loudly, "Are you _SERIOUS_?!", and scaring a few stray pigeons from the sidewalk as well as a street vendor. Rachel was laughing in earnest now, clutching Quinn's arm as she double-over with laughter. "All these years, it's always been right there in front of me the whole time?"

_Wow, how ironic this _that_, Fabgay?_ she found herself thinking.

"Can I go now?" Rachel asked upon regaining some composure.

"Certainly. Please take the attention off of me and my cluelessness."

Because Rachel still had a tight grip on her arm, Quinn could tell when the brunette began squirming.

"Just ask me, Rach," Quinn coaxed her. "It's okay. Nothing's off-limits. You're not going to upset me."

"W- Why did you do . . .. I mean, why . . ." Rachel took a deep breath and tried again. "What was it about me . . . that made you hate me so much . . . in the beginning?"

Quinn stopped. They were meandering through New York City, but Quinn could have sworn they were standing beside Rachel's locker in the hallway of McKinley High School. It took Rachel a few strides to realize that Quinn had paused back a ways, and she scurried back to the blonde.

"You don't have to answer that, Quinn," Rachel conceded. "We can keep playing. I can ask you a different–"

"Rachel, stop," Quinn told her calmly. Her hazel eyes looked into Rachel's and she saw the brunette's apology in them; she hoped to God that Rachel could see the overwhelming guilt in Quinn's. She sighed and took a few steps forward to grasp both of Rachel's hands in hers. "I knew you would ask me sooner or later." She paused, considering her words. "It wasn't that you asked the question, Rachel. It's how you phrased it.

"I never hated you. _God_, I wanted to sometimes. You . . . _ooh!_" Quinn stopped to laugh softly, an ironic smile spreading across her face. "You were always. . . so perfect, and it always grated on my nerves. You were . . . _you_, and you were never scared of that. I was so angry for so long . . . that you could just. . . be yourself . . . so easily, and I wanted to make it hard for you, the way that it was hard for me.

"Rachel, _all_ I wanted was to be happy, and I thought that I had everything that was supposed to make me happy, but I wasn't and somehow _you_ were. So I was so jealous and angry and I wanted to make you feel the way I felt . . . miserable. . . and I liked you, Rachel, I did. More than that, I wanted to _be_ like you. Myself. Happy. _Really, honest-to-God_ confident.

"You've always been . . . so beautiful . . . without ever even trying. You wore . . . animal-print and argyle sweaters and knee-high socks and mary janes and _no_ makeup, and you still looked absolutely beautiful. And I . . . exercised like hell and starved myself to lose weight, I got plastic surgery on my nose and contacts to replace my glasses, I spent hours doing my makeup to perfection every morning, I walked around in a Cheerios uniform . . . and people _told_ me I was beautiful, but I didn't _feel_ beautiful. So. . . I tried to make you feel unbeautiful too. I called you terrible names, lies.

"And it was . . . _so_ wrong, Rachel; _I_ was so wrong. I know that now, but at that time . . ." Quinn trailed off, finally stopping for the first time in what felt like forever. She looked up and Rachel saw the tears that she was trying to combat. "You were amazing Rachel, and I didn't think I could ever be like you. ' Never even crossed my mind that I could learn how to be amazing _from_ you."

Rachel had remained still and silent throughout Quinn's entire explanation, but the tears and the tension were too much, so she stepped forward and started wiping tears from Quinn's cheeks. Their eyes met, and Rachel could distantly hear herself asking, "Was that the only reason?"

Quinn took a step back from her and laughed nervously, swiping at the last few errant tears. "Uh-uh. Not a chance, Rach. It's my turn to ask a question," she teased in order to push away the awkwardness that had sprung up.

Rolling her eyes, Rachel nodded but made a mental note to continue badgering Quinn until she got the answer to her follow-up question. "Okay. Go ahead," she sighed.

The blonde began walking backwards as she carefully pondered what question to ask. "How do you feel about living with Kurt _and_ Santana?" she questioned, because it was the best she could come up with without getting into the heavy questions that she was building up to.

Shrugging her shoulders, Rachel continued climbing the stairs to her apartment. "It's actually kind of nice," she admitted. "Kurt coddles me a lot, until he can't possibly take my melodrama anymore. Santana has a shorter fuse, but I'm finding out that she also has a soft and supportive side too. If I need someone to be brutally honest with me, I usually go to Santana. If I need someone to indulge me for a second, I go to Kurt. Santana intervenes in my life if she thinks something is off, even if I tell her not to. Kurt waits for me to come to him. Santana gives me a kick in the pants, Kurt gently nudges. It's kind of the best of both worlds. I don't know what I would do without either of them. They're my family."

As they came into the apartment and took a seat on the sofa, Quinn commented in a slightly wistful tone, "It sounds nice. Always having people who love you around. I mean, even if they're being so annoying that you want to strangle them, I bet it's still comforting."

"It is." Rachel reached down and grabbed both of Quinn's legs, bringing them to rest across her lap. She didn't miss it when the blonde winced, and it made her hesitate for a moment before Quinn smiled reassuringly at her.

"Your legs are still bothering you," Rachel commented, her fingers subconsciously beginning to work at the knot that had existed just above Quinn's knees for a long time now. "I'm–"

"If you're about to say you're sorry– don't." Quinn carefully leaned back against arm of the couch, closing her eyes and letting the mid-April sun soak into her skin through the wide loft window. "We've gone over this a million times before, Rach. You in no way caused my accident, and it's in the past now."

They were quiet for a few minutes while Rachel's nimble hands expertly massaged their way down Quinn's legs, pausing in one spot every so often to work out a particularly tight muscle. Rachel wasn't quite sure how to describe the way that taking care of Quinn made her feel, but she knew that she loved it. She watched the way that the blonde's face relaxed in a way she had never seen before, and seeing Quinn so serene tugged at something inside of Rachel, some basic instinct to protect and love and comfort.

"I worry about you," she voiced suddenly, causing Quinn to start. Rachel reached up and ran her fingers through Quinn's impossibly soft hair to calm her. "I worry about you so much sometimes, Quinn. I'm so sorry I didn't reply to your e-mails when we first got to school. Everything just seemed to fall to hell when I got here, but I should have let you to know that I was here for you if you needed me, that I was just a train-ride away. I get worried now because you don't talk about your life at Yale, or your friends there. You come to The City every weekend and I feel like I'm stealing you away from your life in New Haven, but I want you here and I'm selfish." She glanced up to see tears sliding down Quinn's cheeks from her closed eyes as the blonde sat motionless. "Quinn? Honey, what's been going on?"

Quinn sucked in a breath and took her legs from Rachel's lap to replace them with her head. "Rachel," she cried, her voice breaking on a sob. "You have to promise me that if I tell you, you won't care about me any less." More tears streamed down her pale cheeks.

"Ssh, Quinn, I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere, and there's nothing you could say or do to make me love you any less," Rachel reassured her. If Quinn noticed her slip-up, she didn't say anything at that moment. "It's okay. Just tell me. I promise, I'm _here_."

"You just got so angry when you found out about Santana and I," Quinn mumbled self-deprecatingly.

Rachel looked down into Quinn's wide eyes that shone gold today. "I was hurt because neither of you were honest with me, but you're trying to be honest with me right now, Quinn," she spoke ever so softly, "so I promise you, I won't get angry."

Quinn took a deep breath and closed her eyes with the most crumpled and pained look on her face. "First semester . . . I was sleeping with my married psychology professor," she admitted in a barely audible voice. Rachel's involuntary sharp intake of breath caused Quinn to quickly continue on, "Rachel, I was _so_ lonely, so far from home and everything that I'd ever known, from glee club, from my friends, from you. He was the only person who seemed to give a damn." Quinn's eyes opened and she saw the shock in Rachel's eyes and sighed. "You can start yelling now. . . or running." She broke down in sobs again.

"No," Rachel said simply, wiping tears from her own eyes before holding Quinn and doing the same for her. "I'm not going to yell, and I am _definitely_ not going to run away. You're stuck with me, Quinn Fabray. Haven't you figured that out by now?" Quinn's hand reached up and brushed Rachel's cheek and the blonde smiled half-heartedly at her. "That being said," Rachel continued, "I _am_ asking a follow-up question this time, no putting me off, Miss Fabray."

With another weak smile, Quinn nodded. "Okay," she croaked out. "I think we should actually finish this conversation before we get on with the game."

"Good," Rachel said, bringing Quinn's hand to her mouth. Quinn bit back a sigh at the gesture. "Quinn, I need to know . . . are you still sleeping with this professor?"

"No," the blonde choked out. "That was kind of a part of why I slept with Santana the night of the wedding."

Rachel nodded distantly. "Why Santana?" she asked suddenly, unsure where that even came from. "There were dozens of people at that reception, so why Santana?"

Quinn sat up and faced Rachel, scrubbing at the splotches on her face so she could look serious when she asked, "Why does it bother you so much that it was Santana?"

"It doesn't," Rachel answered too quickly. "It's just . . . Never mind. Forget I asked." She stood up to leave, but Quinn grabbed her hand and stood up as well.

"No. Remember a second ago when you told me you weren't letting me put you off this time? Well, guess what. I'm not letting _you_ put _me_ off this time either, Rach," Quinn told her very seriously. "So I'll ask you again: why does it bother you so much that it was Santana? And don't say it doesn't, because we both know that's a lie. Talk to me, Rachel, you can tell me anything."

Rachel gaze hardened. "What was the _real_ reason you came after _me_, specifically, in high school?" she asked.

"Why does it bother you so much that it was Santana?" Quinn repeated again calmly.

"What did you mean when you asked if I was singing to 'only Finn' at Regionals last year?" Rachel countered loudly.

"Why does it bother you that it was with Santana, Rachel?" the blonde persisted, knowing what the brunette was trying to do.

"How do you _really_ feel about me?" Rachel asked in an even louder tone.

"Why does it bother you so much that I had sex with Santana on Valentine's Day?" Quinn asked one last time.

"BECAUSE IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME!" Rachel erupted finally.


	7. Will Finally Come To Be

**Sorry about the longest wait EVER, guys. I'm finishing up my college semester and I've been slammed with work. Hope you'll all be willing to forgive me. Love you guys! I'll TRY to be speedier with the next update, promise! We'll see how it goes =)**

* * *

**Part Seven: . . . Will **_**Finally**_** Come To Be**

* * *

"_BECAUSE IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME!"_

* * *

**LATER THAT SAME DAY**

Quinn began choking as she attempted to knock back her scalding cup of coffee. In a moment, her macchiato was snatched and pulled away from her blistering yet ravenous mouth.

"Whoa, girl," Santana cautioned her. "Take it easy on the caffeine, Q. I don't wants you aspirating on your java afores I know what happened!"

Leveling the Latina with her trademark Ice Queen glare, Quinn snapped, "Thanks, Santana. It's good to know you're so concerned about _me_– your _best friend_."

"Yeah yeah yeah," Santana scoffed. "So are you going to _regale_ me with the enthralling story of the 'True Confessions of A Lovesick Hobbit', or not?"

In an attempt to refocus her thoughts, Quinn shook her head a little. "Sorry," she mumbled to Santana, glancing out the window at the rainy weather. "Well, after she told me. . ."

Rachel's eyes widened as she realized what she'd just admitted. Her hands flew to cover her mouth as she stared in horror at Quinn. Just from looking at her face, Quinn could tell Rachel was preparing herself to run like hell from this situation.

In a desperate attempt to make her stay, Quinn held up her hands in a placating manner. "Rachel . . ." she spoke slowly. The last thing she wanted to do right now what spook the tiny brunette.

"Oh my God," Rachel breathed in barely more than a whisper. Her brown eyes flickered guiltily to the blonde. "Quinn, I am so sorry. I'm sorry, Quinn."

She was about to run, Quinn could see her taking small steps back with every utterance of another apology. The blonde lunged before Rachel could get out the door. She grabbed the diva's hand and Rachel turned to look at her fearfully.

"Stop," Quinn said, surprising even herself at the firmness in her voice. She softened her face and tone. "Rachel, I have to know . . ." the blonde began. She searched Rachel's gaze imploringly. "Are you sorry because what you just said wasn't the honest-to-God truth, or because it is and you're afraid of how I might react?"

Rachel looked everywhere but at Quinn. "I . . . I. . ." Rachel struggled and then sighed in a quiet and broken tone, "I can't." She made a break for the door, but paused to whisper, "I'm sorry" one last time before disappearing.

* * *

"WHAT?!" Kurt squawked in outrage.

Rachel's face turned an even darker shade of red. Kurt couldn't tell anymore which parts of Rachel's countenance were red from crying and which were red from shame. He supposed they must have been about an equal ratio.

Kurt stood suddenly and walked around the bistro table to dump Rachel out of her chair. He blatantly ignored her screech of protest and the expressions of the on-looking patrons as he dragged her from the cafe. Kurt only stopped when they were standing on the sidewalk outside.

"Kurt!" Rachel shrieked indignantly. "_What_ are you doing?"

"_We_ are going to find Quinn and Santana, and then we're going to _fix this_!" he declared, whistling for a taxi.

"Kurt, stop!" Rachel yelled loudly, attracting even more unwanted attention to their (for once) _un_intentional drama. She pulled the boy's fingers away from his lips to prevent him from hailing a cab. "I messed up, okay? I can't take back what I said and now Quinn's never going to want to see me again!"

Her best friend stopped and sighed, rubbing his fingers in a horizontal pattern across his worry-creased forehead. "Rachel. Just. . ." - he sighed again - "answer me this, alright? Do you _want_ to take back what you told Quinn?" he asked.

"Of course," Rachel answered.

He looked at her very seriously, his blue-green eyes analyzing, as if daring Rachel to lie to him. "Why?" he questioned meaningfully.

"Why?" Rachel repeated. Confusion was written all over her face, as if she heard the word but didn't understand its meaning.

"Exactly. _Why_ do you want to take back what you said to Quinn?" Kurt clarified, though he was adamantly persistent in his question.

Standing on the sidewalk midway between W 3rd and W 4th on Mercer Street in the light rainfall, Rachel couldn't push back the feeling of helplessness that she had been battling with since finding out about Santana and Quinn's tryst. She pulled her long peacoat a little tighter and hugged herself while biting her lower lip. Tears welled unwanted in her eyes.

"Because I love her, Kurt," she admitted, her voice cracking. "More than I've ever loved anyone else. And . . . I need her in my life in a way that I never needed Finn or Brody. I can't lose her because of some stupid outburst on my part."

Kurt nodded, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, and allowing his best friend to wrap her arm through his and lean against him as they walked together through the downpour.

* * *

Quinn sat silent, staring at Santana and willing her to be forthcoming with her words of wisdom any time now. Her heart was breaking. She could feel it cracking in her chest, shattering into millions of fragments, all those pieces falling into a heavy pile at the bottom of her stomach.

"I think . . . " Santana began at last. Her dark eyes flickered up to Quinn's, ". . . that you might just be the most clueless person on the face of the planet, Q."

"Excuse me?" Quinn demanded, eyebrow raising nearly into her hairline.

Santana sighed, leaning across the table to touch Quinn's hand. "Don't take this the wrong way, _cari__ň__a_, because I say this with sisterly love and all that jazz," the Latina prevised, "_but ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FREAKING MIND_?!"

Several people in the cafe on Waverly Place looked at the Hispanic girl oddly, and Santana glared at them until they all eventually looked away. She turned her attention back on Quinn. "For realz, Q?" she demanded hotly. "You could have prevented Rachel's freak-out flee with five simple words."

Giving her a dubious look, the blonde pursed her lips. "Oh? And what might those 'five simple words' have been, Santana. _Please_, enlighten me."

Santana looked very seriously at Quinn. "There are five words you could have said that would have stopped that girl in her tiny little tracks. Q, what you should have said was, 'Rachel, I'm in love with you'."

"That's six words."

"Ugh! I _wasn't_ counting her name, okay?!" Santana shot back. "Look, don't change the subject! She told you what you needed to hear, Quinn. So why would you not tell her what _she_ needed to hear?"

Quinn looked out the window again, drumming her fingers on the tabletop for some time before Santana stopped her hand and looked at her expectantly. She sighed. "I just . . . had so many questions. She caught me _so_ off-guard, San. I mean, I always knew it was a possibility that this. . . _Connection? Attraction? Gravitational pull?. . ._ that I feel for her wasn't entirely unrequited; but to have her come right out and tell me that she's jealous of you for having sex with me? Color me stunned, Santana," Quinn explained.

"You have to tell her, Quinn," Santana told her point-blank. "It's your moment now to just come right out and say it. _Actually_, it's little bit _past_ your moment, but, you know, better late than never I guess."

"So . . . what?" Quinn asked doubtfully. "I just walk up to her and say–"

* * *

"You were right."

"Quinn?" Rachel asked in amazement, watching the blonde standing in her doorway.

Which was just so wrong on so many levels. First of all, the blonde was dripping wet and looked like she'd been running. Secondly, Quinn had a key to the loft, so why was she knocking on the door? But most importantly, Quinn was _there_. She hadn't hopped the first train back to New Haven or gone and gotten a hotel room to stay in to avoid seeing Rachel. No, Quinn was _there_ standing right in front of her, close enough to touch.

"It should have been you," Quinn explained, stepping into the apartment and sliding the door closed after her. Her gaze locked onto Rachel's. "It was supposed to be you."

Rachel's face still held confusion. "Quinn, what are you–?"

Quinn gently gripped Rachel's forearms in her cold, damp hands, but Rachel didn't feel any chill except that which she always felt when Quinn touched her. "I _wanted_ it to be with you, Rachel. It was always supposed to be you." The blonde lifted her shoulders in a shrug and held her hands out to her sides as she continued, "I'm not attracted to women. Just you, Rachel. I wanted it to be _your_ arms I was wrapped up in that night, I wanted to make love to _you_, because . . ." – Quinn took another cautious step forward – "because, the truth is, Rachel, I'm in love with _you_. I think a part of me always has been, and it's taken me this long to figure it out." She studied Rachel's face for any sign of a reaction. "I want to be with you, Rachel. Not . . . _just_ . . . in a sexual way, but in _every _way possible." Now she was begging, desperately hoping against hope. "Please say you want to be with me too."

Rachel stared at Quinn for several long moments, completely still and, for maybe the first time since Quinn had known her, completely silent as well. "I'm scared," Rachel whispered finally.

"Of me?" Quinn asked softly. Fearfully.

Rachel reached forward and gripped Quinn's cold hands in her own, and this time she felt the iciness that was radiating off of Quinn in waves. Her brown eyes shot up to Quinn's face. "Quinn, you're freezing," she said in a suddenly shocked and worried tone. Her hand rose to Quinn's cheek. "Oh my God. We need to get you warmed up. You need– you need dry clothes and a blanket and I'll turn the thermostat up and–"

"Rachel," Quinn interjected firmly, taking Rachel's shoulders to stop her before she could run off again. "I'm fine. That's not what's important right now."

"Of course it is," Rachel argued, bringing her hand to Quinn's cheek once again. "You are what is most important to me, Quinn. Always. You _always_ have been." She looked at Quinn as if she had suddenly realized something. "Do you still not understand what you mean to me?"

"But if I mean so much, then why are you scared of me?" Quinn asked persistently. The brunette looked away. "Rach, it's just me."

Rachel looked like she was trapped, like she was scared and helpless and looking for a way out of this conversation, and that wasn't how Quinn wanted her to feel when they talked about this. She was still damp and freezing, but she needed some way to bring back the easy comfort between them. Quinn wanted Rachel to talk about this with her because the brunette _wanted_ to talk about it, not because she felt cornered.

"I'm going to hug you now," Quinn said carefully, looking into Rachel's eyes for any sign of resistance, but there wasn't any; instead, Rachel eagerly stepped forward into Quinn's arms and pulled the blonde close. "We don't have to talk about this right now, if you don't want to," Quinn told her, kissing the top of her head and pulling her even closer.

"I want to talk," Rachel said after a few moments. "I just don't know where to begin."

Quinn hummed from somewhere deep in her throat. "Just talk to me, Rach, just like you always do."

"Even if I start rambling and it doesn't make any sense?" Rachel questioned shyly.

The blonde laughed and held Rachel to her as she eased them onto the sofa. "I don't know if you've noticed this, Rach, but I'm actually pretty good at making sense of Rachel-rambles," Quinn mentioned in a reassuring yet offhanded way. Her green eyes met Rachel's brown ones, and she tucked a strand of hair behind one of the brunette's ears. "Try me."

"I'm scared for a lot of reasons," Rachel explained carefully, her attention never leaving Quinn's face. "I'm scared that you might be mistaken regarding your feelings for me. I'm scared that you'll come to your senses and never want to see or speak to me ever again. I'm scared that you'll change your mind and decide that this isn't what you want– that _I'_m not what you want– the way that Finn did. I'm scared of getting my heartbroken again and not having you here to help me put it back together, because you're the one who's broken it." Rachel suddenly realized that she had been clutching Quinn's shirt in a death-grip, but she couldn't bring herself to release her hold any more than she could bring herself to look away from Quinn's stare. "But most of all, I'm scared of losing our friendship, because I need you in my life so badly, Quinn."

Quinn was quiet for a moment, giving Rachel a grace-period to add in anything else, before finally asking, "Is that everything?" When the brunette gave an affirmative nod, Quinn decided to continue, "Rachel, you are . . . my _very_ best friend. You mean everything to me, and however true it may be that I'm just now beginning to fully understand what that means, make no mistake, I'm in no way confused about my feelings for you, Rachel. I'm not questioning, I'm not second-guessing, and I'm _not_ mistaken. I love you, Rachel." Quinn looked to her meaningfully, her eyes shining with sincerity and begging Rachel to see how genuinely deep her feelings ran.

"There are a lot of things in my life that I'm not certain of right now, but I am absolutely, one-hundred-percent, beyond-a-shadow-of-a-doubt sure that I'm in love with you. I want _you_, Rachel, and the thought of not seeing your face or hearing you speak to me ever again is unfathomable. You're just so much a part of my life now, so much a part of _me_." Tears sprung to Quinn's eyes but, for the first time that she could remember, she didn't try to push them back or hide them. For the first time, she simply let them fall, as she begged the girl she loved to believe her. "I could never, _ever_ cut you out of my life, and I really hope you won't cut me out of yours."

Quinn entwined her fingers with Rachel's, holding their hands between the two of them, and leaning her forehead against Rachel's. "I can't promise that I'll never break your heart, Rach, but I can promise you that I will _never_ leave you. I will _always_ be here to help you put the pieces back together, because you are my friend above all else and I need you too. You're my everything, Rachel. Nothing will ever change that."

Rachel pulled Quinn against her again and just rested her chin on the blonde's shoulder. She wanted comfort in this moment. Hearing the extent of how Quinn felt about her and the blonde's assuredness she had about those feelings, all she wanted was to hold Quinn and not let go.

"Quinn?" she called after a moment, pulling back far enough to be able to look at Quinn.

"Hmm?"

Ducking her head in sudden shyness before finally raising her eyes determinedly, Rachel held Quinn's head in her hands and looked into hazel eyes. "I . . . I love you," she whispered, her voice cracking ever so slightly.

As soon as the words left her mouth, Rachel knew instinctually that they were the absolute, undeniable truth. It gave her the confidence to continue. "I love you and I want nothing more than to be with you. I-I don't really know what else to say, but . . . you mean everything to me as well. You always have. I didn't even realize it until recently, but . . ." – Rachel bit her lip bashfully – "don't . . . don't you think that our entire worlds have, in a way, revolved around one another for a long time now? I mean, we've sort of always gone out of our ways to interact with one another, whether in a positive or negative way, and I think that might be how all of this started. With a connection, a . . . an unorthodox fixation with one another, if you will."

"Rachel," Quinn broke in, her face smiling and happy given Rachel's confession and her adorable rambling. She couldn't help but let out a laugh at the way Rachel's eyes widened when she realized how much she'd been talking.

"I'm sorry," Rachel said. "I didn't mean to go off on a monologue."

A smile quirked at the corners of Quinn's mouth. "It's okay. I actually kind of love when you do that. It's sort of adorable," the blonde confessed, causing a bright blush to rise to Rachel's cheeks. Quinn looked at her softly, "In fact, you're making it very difficult for me to not kiss you right now."

Rachel's head perked up and a coy look played about her facial features. "Have you thought that maybe I _want_ you to kiss me?" she asked.

"Do you?" Quinn felt her heart beat a little harder in her chest.

The brunette rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Quinn, I've already admitted to wanting to be sexually intimate with you, and you're asking if I want you to kiss me? Doesn't the latter typically lead to the former?"

"Well, when you put it like that . . ." Quinn said, smiling in a way that was both devilish and nervous.

A few moments passed with neither of them moving nor speaking.

"Quinn?" Rachel finally broke the silence. Quinn's gaze sparked acknowledgment, so Rachel continued, "This is the part where you lean in and kiss me."

Quinn smiled at her own nervousness. This was Rachel, _her_ Rachel, and she was asking Quinn to kiss her, something that Quinn had been waiting to do for awhile now. She had kissed people before, had even been the one to initiate it, but maybe that was just it; she was actually, genuinely in love with Rachel. Rachel counted more than any of her former relationships ever had, way more, and she didn't want to screw it all up like she had done a million other times.

"Hey," Rachel said, bringing her hand to Quinn's cheek, "this is just you and me, remember?"

"You're sure this is what you want?" Quinn asked carefully.

Rachel's other hand came up the rest on Quinn's other cheek as she looked in Quinn's eyes with all the sincerity in the world. "Yes," she answered, and that was enough for Quinn.

In that moment, her need to kiss Rachel increased ten-fold, and then there was nothing but Rachel and herself; there were no problems, no obstacles, no what-ifs, no fears, there was only them and this amazing moment that had been intensifying for entirely too long.

Then there was the moment that Quinn's lips met Rachel's, and the entire world stopped and faded out entirely. The blonde's lips moved smoothly over the other girl's, like they knew instinctually how and when the other was going to move. They moved simultaneously and in perfect sync. Quinn was gentle, but insistent at the same time, trying to make it absolutely apparent how she felt about Rachel without using her words. Rachel's hands moved to thread themselves in Quinn's hair and Quinn wrapped her arms tighter around Rachel's waist, if only to anchor herself.

Their worlds exploded simultaneously, and suddenly this gentle kiss wasn't enough anymore. Rachel's tongue ran a wet line across Quinn's lips, and Quinn whimpered softly as she allowed entrance. Her hands roamed Rachel's body, exploring and testing the boundaries of this newfound thing between them, but there didn't seem to be any because Rachel never protested as Quinn ran her hand from the girl's waist, down over her hip, and grabbed the back of the brunette's thigh. Their tongues battled for dominance, but Quinn gave in easily; she was more concerned with finally getting to kiss Rachel and the intense warmth and swelling sensation in her chest. Her lips brushed against Rachel's and she knew that they would probably be swollen afterwards, but Rachel didn't seem to care about that either.

Oxygen became a problem. Actually, it had _been_ a problem for Quinn for quite some time, but she hadn't wanted to stop kissing Rachel, and Rachel's lung capacity was much more withstanding than her own. Quinn silently thanked God for all of Rachel's vocal training.

Rachel sucked in an audible breath. "Oh. Oh _wow_," she breathed carefully. Her eyes locked onto Quinn's. "You, Quinn Fabray, are a truly remarkable kisser."

Quinn smiled softly, and placed a soft kiss on Rachel's jawline. "You take my breath away, Rachel," she whispered, causing Rachel to shiver slightly. "You're the best kiss I've ever had."

Looking down and fidgeting with her fingers, Rachel asked self-consciously, "Even . . . even better than Santana?" Her brown gaze shot to Quinn's face for a reaction.

Quinn held Rachel's face in her hands and looked into her eyes meaningfully. "_Much_ better than Santana," she told her without question. "You _mean_ something to me, Rachel; you mean _everything_ to me. It never meant anything with Santana, but it means everything in the world with you because I love you." Quinn shifted to sit up straighter, but her hands grabbed hold of Rachel's. "Which brings me to my next question," the blonde announced, smile on her face. "Rachel Berry, would you like to go out on a date, or-or possibly several, and maybe even _be_ with me? Like, um, officially."

Rachel grinned wickedly, obviously amused with Quinn's awkwardness. "Quinn Fabray, are you asking _me_ to be in an exclusive and committed relationship with you?" At this, Quinn blushed furiously, and it was the cutest thing Rachel had ever witnessed. She leaned forward and kissed Quinn's lips. "I would love to go on as many dates with you as you want, and as for 'being' with you," Rachel answered with a smirk, "there's no one else I'd rather be with."

This time, it was Quinn's turn to be insecure. The blonde bit her lower lip and her eyes became shifty, looking everywhere except for right at Rachel. "Even" – she cleared her throat – "even . . . Finn?"

The brunette's eyes softened and became earnest. "Quinn . . . it's you, and I'm starting to understand that on some level it's always _been_ you, because everything in my life for the past four years has revolved around you," Rachel explained. "So, to answer your question directly, yes. I would rather be with you than anyone else, including Finn.

"I'm in love with you, Quinn."


	8. We Might Fall Hard, We Might Fall Fast

**Chapter Eight: We Might Fall Hard, We Might Fall Fast**

_"I'm in love with you, Quinn."_

_ **R**achel couldn't handle it anymore. She grabbed Quinn's face in her hands and crashed their lips together. Clearly caught off-guard by Rachel's sudden assertiveness, it was all Quinn could do to follow and keep up with the tiny diva as Rachel kissed her hungrily.

This kiss immediately deepened and Rachel couldn't decide which part of Quinn she wanted her hands on more; in Quinn's golden hair, the girl's freckled cheeks, her neck, her shoulders, the gentle indent of her waist. She grabbed the belt loops of Quinn's jeans and yanked the blonde right up against her so she could feel more of Quinn all at once.

She kissed her way down the blonde's chin to her jaw then to Quinn's neck; nipping, biting, licking, sucking, and teasing as much of Quinn's smooth and sensitive skin as she possibly could. Quinn's hands had found the back of Rachel's head and she held the brunette to her, encouraging her to not stop now. Rachel knew she should be gentle, that her first time with Quinn was something she had unconsciously been waiting for for a long time and she should make it special, but she also wanted to mark Quinn in as many places as possible, to make sure that everyone knew that this girl was hers.

Her hands found the hem of Quinn's shirt and Rachel took her lips away from the blonde long enough to look into Quinn's eyes as her hands hesitantly began sliding under the fabric, and Rachel checked for any sign that she was moving too fast or going too far with Quinn. In Rachel's current state of mind, if she had had Quinn _completely_ naked then she _still_ wouldn't be moving fast enough, but still she would _never_ in a million years take from Quinn what Quinn wouldn't wholeheartedly give to Rachel of her volition.

Quinn's hands wrapped around Rachel's wrists, and Rachel was entirely ready for Quinn to move her hands to a safer location, but Quinn did the opposite. The blonde took Rachel's wrists and guided them under her own shirt, pushing Rachel's fingertips to trail over Quinn's toned stomach. The brunette moaned at the sensation of rock solid abdominal muscles under velvety soft skin. Rachel's hands tightened around the bare skin of Quinn's waist as she kissed the blonde passionately and not-so-unconsciously began steering them toward her bedroom door.

She looped an arm around Quinn's waist, her lips never relinquishing contact with those of Quinn even as she lightly pressed the blonde to her door while fumbling for the doorknob. Every single tiny molecule in her body was screaming with delicious fire and her veins crackling with an electric feeling that Rachel had never experienced before. Was this what being turned on felt like?

"Mmm, oh God," she hummed, breaking away from Quinn's lips. "O-_aah_-oh," Rachel exhaled as Quinn's lips brushed a particularly sensitive spot near Rachel's ear. "Should . . . should we s-stop down? I d-don't want to . . . p-_ooh_-ssh. . . you into an-anything."

Quinn took a half-step away from Rachel and glared at her frighteningly. "Don't you _dare_," she threatened. She stepped back in and leaned close to Rachel's ear, "Do you know what I _really_ want, Rachel?" Rachel shook her head tremulously and Quinn seemed to be regaining her footing. "I want _you_. Here. Now." The blonde rested her forehead against the side of Rachel's head. "This is perfect."

Rachel grinned wickedly. "Good," she said, "because I don't think I could stop now if I wanted to."

She slammed her bedroom door closed after them and pressed Quinn up against it with her entire body weight. Her hands founds their previous place under Quinn's shirt and their lips locked onto each other's again. Rachel's hands slid up Quinn's sides, pushing the shirt up inch by inch with her hands, brushing the sides of Quinn's bra-clad breasts and causing the blonde to shiver.

"If I were to take this shirt off right now . . ."

"Do it," Quinn whispered against her lips, causing Rachel to shiver in turn. "But yours comes off too."

Rachel broke away and grinned. She gave Quinn a gentle shove, causing the blonde to fall onto her bed. Then, gripping her shirt by the bottom, Rachel bold stripped it off over her head and threw it off to the side. She went one step further and flicked open the front clasp on her bra, rolling her shoulders back so that that article of clothing fell to the floor as well. Rachel stood back, completely topless and bare, and waited for Quinn to make the next move, but the blonde seemed paralyzed in astonishment.

After a moment, Rachel frowned and squirmed uncomfortably. She wasn't expecting Quinn to suddenly become unresponsive and she had a feeling she knew why. Quinn's first girl had been _Santana,_ for crying out loud! Santana, who Coach Sylvester had mockingly dubbed 'Boobs McGee' for an entire semester of junior (or was it sophomore?) year. How had Rachel been so stupidly confident? It made her hurt, but she swallowed back the pain and stooped to pick up her shirt.

A hand on her wrist stopped her. "What are you doing?" Quinn asked suddenly.

Rachel stared at her with a mixture of hurt, bemusement, and resignation. "It's okay, Quinn. I shouldn't have . . . It wasn't . . . I mean, I get that I'm not . . ." – she gestured meekly to her body – "you know."

"No!" Quinn shrieked, her pitchy voice shooting straight through three octaves. She took a breath and continued, "I mean, no. Rachel . . . that wasn't why I was staring. . . I'm sorry, it's just . . . you're so beautiful and I . . ." – Quinn cleared her throat awkwardly – "I, um, I had a dream that was . . . kind of like . . . this. But," – she looked at Rachel – "my imagination didn't quite prepare me for the real thing." Quinn gently lowered Rachel's hands and took the shirt from her, tossing it across the room and hiding her burning face in Rachel's neck. "I didn't mean to stare." The blonde stepped back and, despite her last words, looked back at Rachel's chest. "This is going to sound so weird, but . . . your boobs are just . . . really pretty." Quinn's face flushed fire engine red.

Rachel blushed a little too, but for an entirely different reason. "Really?" she asked shyly.

Quinn swallowed and nodded. "Really," she answered reverently. "And I can see the gears turning in your head right now, Rach. I know you're comparing yourself to Santana, but you shouldn't, because there's no competition. You win every time."

Bashfulness all but gone, Rachel smirked. "I win, huh?" she repeated suggestively. She took a step closer to put herself right up against Quinn. "Does that make you my prize?"

Quinn smiled, glad that her honesty had been Rachel happy again. "If you want me to be," she returned. Quinn ran her hands through Rachel's hair, down her neck and across her collarbones, lifting her eyes for permission to reach any farther. Rachel nodded.

A load moan reverberated throughout the room, echoing from both girls' mouths at the first touch of Quinn's hands to the firm yet supple flesh of Rachel's breast. Quinn found that not only did Rachel's boobs look pretty but they felt amazing. She felt the weight of them in her hands, massaged her fingers into the tissue and flicked her thumbs over Rachel's nipples until peaked. She bent on her knees and kissed her way up Rachel's smooth stomach as she massaged both of Rachel's breasts with her hands, until her mouth reached those mounds of supple flesh and latched onto one deep pink and hardened nipple. Rachel hadn't known she could _react_ so strongly simply to someone touching her breast. It usually took much more to get her this worked up, but the way that Quinn cupped and massaged and finally _tasted_ her breast was completely erotic to Rachel. Her hands tangled into Quinn's hair, urging the blonde to suck harder on her nipple.

"_Oh, God, Quinn,"_ she groaned.

Her hands moved down until she reached the collar of Quinn's shirt and she ripped it open. She pulled gently up on Quinn's head, bringing the blonde's mouth back to hers, while Quinn's hand resumed massaging Rachel breast without missing a beat. Rachel shoved Quinn onto the bed again, this time with much more insistence, and climbed on top of her. She kissed her way down Quinn's neck, biting the girl's collarbone and soothing it with her tongue, before placing hot, open-mouthed kisses around the edge of Quinn's pink lace bra. Quinn sat up halfway, with Rachel still straddling her lap, to shrug off her shirt and pop the clasp on her own bra.

Rachel pulled back and grinned down at her. "Quinn Fabray, I'm going to make you _insanely_ happy," she promised, nuzzling into Quinn's neck for a moment as she grabbed the front of Quinn's bra in one hand and flung it across the room.

She dipped her head to briefly lick a circle around each of Quinn's nipples and then pulled back and blew gently on the wet, sensitive skin, causing Quinn to jolt and shiver and her nipples to harden immediately. She sucked hard on Quinn's left nipple, massaging the blonde's other breast with her hand, her brunette hair tickling Quinn's chest and abdomen. Quinn gasped sharply as Rachel switched and repeated this process on the other breast. The diva's nimble fingers went on caressing Quinn's boobs in teasing motions as Rachel's mouth trailed a wet line down Quinn's toned stomach muscles, finally reaching the girl's form-fitted black jeans and popping the button open on them. Rachel kissed the spot where the button had left an imprint on Quinn's belly, then undid the zipper and licked the newly exposed skin.

"_Ra_-ACHEL!" Quinn squeaked.

Rachel stopped and looked up at the woman she loved. "Too far?"

"No!" Quinn told her forcefully. "No. Not even close. All . . . I want all." Her words came out in between clipped pants.

"Good," Rachel said, standing up and bringing Quinn with her so she could rip the blonde jeans off before pushing Quinn back onto the bed.

Rachel looked at Quinn, willing and waiting but she still felt the need to be reassured.

"You're sure that you want this?" Rachel asked again.

Quinn sat up and took Rachel's face in her hands and kissed her deeply. "Rachel, God, I _wish_ that other people had been as concerned about me and what I wanted before they had sex with me as you're being," Quinn told her softly, not being able to resist stealing another kiss. "But _you_? Rach, you're the _one_ person who _doesn't_ need to be worried about me not wanting this. I love you. I want you."

"I just don't want you to have any regrets with me about this," Rachel said, giving Quinn a passionate kiss in return. "I don't want to make you feel pressured or obligated, I want you to enjoy this. I want you to love being with me."

Quinn smiled and smoothed her hand over the back of Rachel's head, and her eyes began watering slightly. "You're so perfect," she cried. She just couldn't stop kissing Rachel, so she did it again. "Rachel, I want to make love with you. I'm sure. I really, _really_ want you. Please."

Rachel smiled and nodded in relief, kissing Quinn senseless before stepping back. She pulled back the covers on the bed, and then wriggled out of her skirt. She placed her hands on either of Quinn's knees and slowly slid them higher and higher, her thumbs dipping to skim the line of Quinn's panties and slipping under the fabric, but not yet touching Quinn in her most sensitive area where she wanted Rachel the most.

"Rachel, please," Quinn asked seriously.

Rachel slowly slid Quinn panties down her legs then she got under the covers with Quinn following her. Rachel laid next to Quinn and grabbed the girl by the waist, bringing their bodes flush another one another's and kissing her passionately. Her hand slid purposefully down Quinn's body and finally down between Quinn's legs, feeling the blonde's soaking wetness for the first time.

"Mmm," Rachel hummed. "All that just because of me?" she teased.

Her fingers played with the lips of Quinn's opening. Unexpectedly, Rachel's thumb pressed firmly against Quinn's clitoris, causing the blonde to inhale sharply and moan. She kissed Rachel to muffle the sound slightly, but the tantalizingly slow circles that Rachel was rubbing against her was driving her crazy.

Quinn ran her hands down Rachel's torso as they kissed and Quinn panted into the brunette's mouth. She grabbed onto Rachel's small and firm ass. She moved her hands to grip the brunette's hips and Quinn brought her own thigh between Rachel's legs, giving Rachel the friction that the brunette hadn't realized until then that she needed.

"Oh my God, _Quinn!_" she nearly screamed. Rachel rolled her hips, grinding on Quinn's thigh.

Quinn hooked a finger through one side of Rachel's underwear and dragged them down Rachel's body, moving them out of the way so she could reach down and grab Rachel's sensitive area.

"Ah!" Rachel gasped, grinding on Quinn's hand as she shoved a finger into Quinn.

She kept her thumb rubbing circles on Quinn's clit and she eased a second finger into Quinn's entrance and began pumping into her. Each thrust Rachel pushed into Quinn matched the rhythm of her grinding on Quinn's hand and the feeling of Rachel's fingers inside of her and her hand being sensually grinded upon, lathering her fingers in Rachel's juices, was making the coil in her stomach tighten more and more until she felt like her head was going to explode.

"Rachel, I'm _so close_!"

"I know, baby. Me too."

"I need– _Harder!_"

Rachel's grinding eased but she was still thrusting into Quinn and stimulating the little blonde's little bundle of nerves, though with even more vigor now. Wait. Why was Rachel stopping? Quinn moved her hand and abruptly entered Rachel with three fingers, causing the girl to cry out in both pain and pleasure as Quinn matched the brunette's thrusts, bring Rachel to the cusp with her.

"I'm going to. . ."

"Quinn!"

Rachel went a second before Quinn, her vision blackening as bright stars appeared and Quinn followed quickly after, holding onto Rachel tightly as they both screamed, riding out their orgasms together. After they had each come down from their high, Rachel rolled to Quinn's side and wrapped her arms around the blonde, basking in her post-orgasm euphoria. She had never felt anything like it before.

"Oh."

"My."

"God," they finished in unison, turning their heads to look at each other with bright smiles on their faces.

"That was . . ." Rachel trailed off, speechless for once in her life.

"Incredible," Quinn finished for her.

Rachel met Quinn's gaze and leaned forward to kiss the blonde softly. "Was I . . . ?"

Quinn kissed Rachel back, harder and more insistent. "Perfect." She placed a kiss into Rachel's hair and smoothed her hand over the brown locks as Rachel's head came to rest on her shoulder. "And to think . . . I wasted all those years on guys . . . and Santana . . . when, all these years, it could have always been this good. It's always been you, Rach. You're the only person who's ever . . ."

"And I'll keep being the only person to ever . . . for the rest of our lives. I-if you'll let me," Rachel told her shyly.

Quinn turned to look into Rachel's eyes, and tucked some hair behind one of the brunette's adorable, dainty ears. "This . . .with you . . . every night, for forever?" Quinn reiterated. She smiled, "What about when you're cast in a major production and have to tour?"

Rachel smiled, propping herself up so she could play this game with Quinn. "You'd come with me," she answered. "We'd make love every night after every show."

"You would want to go to the after parties."

"After parties are for the fans," Rachel scoffed. She grinned devilishly and slid her arms around Quinn, pulling her closer. "Besides, we'd be having our own after party."

Laughing out loud, Quinn gave another, "Wouldn't you be awfully tired after wowing thousands of people on stage, Miss Berry?"

"Too tired for sex with my incredibly hot . . . girlfriend?" Rachel questioned, beaming in return when Quinn smiled and nodded her approval at the title being offered. "I don't think so."

"What if I have a job?" Quinn challenged.

"Well, then there's always phone-sex."

It was the way Rachel said it, as if she were commenting on the weather, that made Quinn burst out laughing in delighted shock. It wasn't that it was necessarily inappropriate, not in light of what they had just done together, but it was just so unexpected coming from Rachel Berry. She leaned in and captured Rachel's round lips in a sweet kiss, inwardly swooning at the future-Broadway starlet.

"What about the kids?" Quinn questioned, knowing that she could be crossing a line but feeling comfortable enough with Rachel to cross it. After all, she and Rachel were best friends and they had talked about kids they might have in the future. Just, you know, not the ones they might have _together_.

Rachel, however, smiled happily at the thought. "There are kids?" Quinn nodded shyly and Rachel went on, "Good, because if Shelby's nature is anything like her nurture, then Beth is going to _crave_ younger siblings to boss around." She glanced over to look at Quinn and found the blonde near tears. She sat up, pulling her sheet around her chest. "Oh, oh. God, Quinn, I'm- I'm so sorry. I didn't mean . . ."

Quinn smiled. "It's okay, Rachel," she whimpered out, a sound that was half-laughter and half-crying. "It's just . . . you . . . you thought of Beth and everything. No one's ever thought of Beth but me."

Rachel relaxed back into the mattress next to Quinn. "Well, yeah," she replied, as if it should have been obvious. She took Quinn's hands and held them to her chest, "Quinn, Beth is a part of you, and of us. And, you know, as much of a field day as other people are going to have with Rachel Berry being in love with her biological mother's adopted daughter's biological mother, I want Beth to be a part of your life. And of my life. And of Fanny and Lucy and–"

"Rachel, I love you more than anything, but honey, we are _not_ naming our daughter Fanny," Quinn cut in humorously.

The diva scowled and, had she been standing, Quinn imagined she would have had her hands on her hips. "And just why not?"

"Because A- we both know how kids on the playground can be and naming a girl 'Fanny' is just asking for her to get bullied, and B- my sister's name is _Frannie_ and that would make family events very confusing," Quinn pointed out. As Rachel was about to argue, Quinn held up a hand and pressed on, "_However_, if we had a son, we could name him Bryce."

Rachel rolled her eyes grudgingly. "I _guess_ I could acquiesce to that," she relented. "Although, we _could_ also name a daughter Bryce, if we had another daughter."

"Why not name the first one Bryce?" Quinn asked.

"Because the first daughter's name is Lucy."

"Why is it Lucy?"

"Because your name is Lucy, but you don't go by Lucy and no one that I know of calls you by Lucy," Rachel said evasively.

"So?"

"So, Lucy Berry is a pretty name."

"What makes you think she's going to be a Berry?" Quinn challenged.

"Do you want her to be a Fabray?" Rachel countered smoothly.

". . . "

". . ."

"Fine. You've made your point."

"We could hyphenate. Berry-Fabray."

"Fabray-Berry."

"It sounds better as Berry-Fabray. . ."

_So sorry it took forever to update. I know it's been weeks but I have a lot of trouble with sex scenes and yes, I am aware that I could just lead into it and then jump forward to the after part, but I felt like this was somehow necessary. Anyway, so yeah, Faberry-sex and pillow!talk. If it seems like they're kind of moving fast with the straight-into-bed-together and then the talking about a future when they haven't even gone out on a first official date, they kind of are, but they're both okay with it. These aren't new feelings for either of them, and they're best friends so they're comfortable moving forward together. _

_Anyway, thanks,_

_from H.J._


End file.
